Whistle by the rocky way, walk then run by the thistle cracked and seemless into din, murky as it begged and battered, shelves seated into sheds and bodies everywhere for pleasure, play against the rising of temptation, trail between the blank spaces and the sheets of blood stained rancour.
Two girls, bound and gagged, tied to a cross and tortured for centuries, divide their body parts into jigsaw pieces, eventually. Hollow as their cries sound, electricity flowing into his mind like a rush of heat and sanity, rapists shuffle off with the knowing of every minute being their cemetary. They make tombs and left in wasteland by the beaches, bristled and loveless, spread out on rocks and pathways, every ripped out vein, worshipped.
In the park, children play for hours for the warmth and joys and grass creeping into view, no signs of death, no abandoning or lesser heaven leaves this way for days. The sky a wander and a wish, the waking eyelids awoken by the sound of shattered life, invoking and invalidating, reverence on the outside, they are back before sundown for more, the children up and down on highs of a life eternal.
Before the sad escapes, Mister Average Everyman, comes back around. Drill in sharp and safer hands, monuments to fashion, exemplary and wholesome, a man so in demand and so refined. Taught not what to wear but who to kill, the neighbours walk without a trace of dark internal brooding weak damnations. Always bubbling underneath, colossal meandering of a mind sailing to the darkness undermanned. Never a trace of teardrops reaching a home on land, forever seeking the torture tears beneath the palm trees deserted like the families left without a chance.
Amidst the gloom of the dim light Summer fading into Autumn, there returns the pacifying pleasure in a moment, both girls bruised and anguished laughter still controlled, amusing. The butterflies flickering dead weight images seering over the sky at night, the windows fogged up, hard to breathe inside hell, impossible to love so well. The buttercups plain as day, growing outside then wasting as the seasons change. These girls somehow more alive than human flesh that savages the streets, for now between the noose and before the body rots, they whisper all their sins to the dusky stars that time so soon forgot.