la-folle-fille

Safe. Billowing smoke reaches My lungs My veins. They don't spasm. Desiccated already. My ears filled with combustion. My eyes blind to darkness. This is the fire, Built on purpose. For no purpose. Besides to singe the jet puffed desolate sugar. It's speared. Burning. We have no need for this! Sparks fly up. Dancing with no mind. To entertain the modern spoiled and deprived eye. What meaning should i assign them? Are they like the stars? Slowly fading. Eyes? Slower fading. My core caves in at the bending of the mind. In agony as I try to keep it all above the smoke. i can't I take a step backwards. And I am in dirt Sme