Evening of little Spooks and Wights. All sneaking and tricking. Treats, all there, making a show. A celebration of New Times past. Before the extra days. Before our towers of fanatical Science guarded Faith Back when the magic Was real With Terrors and Dooms Near by any tavern or tree. I sleep to visit those dreams Awake they show up in wonderment. Anyone can believe, again. Just by noticing the way the world has Its spiked bits of eldritch sway. Like something exciting beautiful Which grinds down your doubt Leaving only the happy surprise Mixed with good old honest lust. Magic in the dark.
My brain is smoking. I can hear the crackling. The stars shine down again On those streets and doorways I see them. Even when I close my eyes. I want to be out a-wandering. Carousing. But it is time to think. Time to stuff more shit Into my head. Freaking great. I wonder if anyone ever In their final moments Wished that they had spent Less time Having Fun.
So fucking hot. I’ll never touch her. Never know her. Never ever ever. But that is ok. She is just a person slightly interacted with. A clerk at a store. Not a chick in a bar, Or a woman on the street. Just a beautiful creature handing back change. But, wow, so Fucking Hot. And that is enough to make me think. All the choices and paths. If there are any, really. Or just a play already scripted And with the dancers dancing as told The singers hitting the written notes With smiles, as needed For the Applause. Time to get in character.
