xellerate

The crowd is all teeth and neon glow. I can feel the undertow of sound (the pulse the PULL the pressure) but you laugh, and press my fingertips to your lips capturing your confession. You start to shake and they pull you away, thrashing through the writhing mass, this maelstrom. I scream your name across this sea of hands and mirrors, but I know. The night will devour her young. Morning, and I am alone still, trying to fill in the gaps (and holes and TEARS and holes) in my twisting memory, trying to conjure the colour of your eyes. The radio is spitting and hissing, the tide has gone out, and you echo in me. There is wa