I fear the lights—its substance and its effects.
It feels as if they’ll always be my courtroom, even if my only crime is I’ve seated against the vandalized wall. There are doves wearing strobe lights and painted with blue and black soaring above my head—dropping their trashes on me. The flashlights of the patrols will file piles of complaints against anything—as long as I get jailed. The light suffocates my lungs and blinds my eyes—they hold the truth I never know.
I haven’t seen the sun for years and it’s fine—I’ve never wanted it, anyway. If only I can bring it down and give it to you, I would have—if that’s the only way to live in the dark.
The purple haze of the sleeping sun is my favorite time of the day. I get to enjoy the benefits of the isolation. I wonder what it’ll be like if I am the judge of the law and I get to have it during these times. It’s amazing—beyond incredible and magical. And I overuse it—it’s the addiction I can’t stop, the relationship I will loyally commit. I’m the maker of my own master.
It’s not that I hate us or everybody; it’s just that I hate that we’re all in authority.
WORD COUNT: 218
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