For Lack Of A Better Blog

Animals are floating through a sky of broken sentences, and catching eyes from acquaintances you never knew about.
They filter out our expressions with open mouths so suspicious. A spoken word could fall right in and never come back.
Our eyes fixed upon rhythmic tricks of kissing drums and guitar licks. We stand entertained but wondrous.
Fists blurring fast as a metronome could.
And lightning bolted through our ears, then took a turn to caress our fears.
We plugged up our fright, no, we couldn't hear. But our blithe was understood.
We lingered with a cloud of smoke to a room that fogged each time we choked.Then! With a drop kick to the walls, they broke down without a fight. Provoking condensation drool that shimmers like glitter in the over light above tiny nations under clouds that break and spill and laugh all night.
And we lived in a house that was pulled from a hat, in a town with a template designed in advance, where the first house on all the roads are the same as the last.
You grit your teeth to the gums, and although I am oblivious, I'll explain to you my interests in all the things I know don't really exist, in a place with no meaning, because finding it is meaningless.
Because our house doesn't match at all. And the neighborhood is catching on. They all flooded with the sound of chattering footsteps on the ground.
We united and washed away as a title wave from the city in the morning, to a city where the sun just doesn't care - to a place where reality rains all across the streets, creating scenes of imagery, by the absence of all misery. Sending messages so belittling; "It's better not to stare!"
Oh, there are cans stacked up that tower us, like walls from the inside of a paper cup. There are skies above just begging us to lay down our umbrellas. The moisture adjusts each of us in size as ice cubes frozen amongst a plastic tray of our own distrust. Well, at least we finally filled it up.
Through lines broken, patterns, engines, fingers pressing the right buttons, we hit the road under the influence of each of our desires.
So we're floating without gravity, in a sentence of transparency, as legible as radio waves whose occupation might transpire to somewhere, but not here or there.
The presence of our home was moved by means of a surreal despair, which is why we were left confused.
Releasing from the pores of thin holes nestled all throughout my skin were freckles left over from summer, roasting against the hottest, thickest wind.