Whatever

[Clockwork Ghost]

It slides, like suffering set in stone – this thing, this piece of me. Forgotten. Like a grain of sand, like a piece of air, cast forth – its minisculature of form, so perfect and yet meaningless, and is gone again – fading smoke-like wraith-form embodied like an after image, like blinking at the sun.

And spewn forth, shat out in pools of fetid water – in ponds that would be lakes, were they but bigger. I twist it, turn its rancid form as it shivers – this thing that shouldnt be, against the cold. Against my stare, my gaze.

This puppet a-dance, this simulacrum made from dreams in nets, from dancing words – their legs suddenly broken and thusly crippled, made with words that often arent, with punctuation broken, and held – held like butterflies bound by pins.

And all the words are broke, all the stanzas flawed, but so they speak, so they shout their frenzy like a beating moth-wing in the candle flame, to flare – to glow but once, and then be gone forever more.

[cyberdemon]

Why are you ranting about atoms?