the night train
a spinning disc, coined on the edge of materialism
cornered beneath the darkening hand of a degenerative conscience defect
with a sour breath of fiery fear, you slip into a deep and devastating deed
the devil's deed of passion fueled 'lack-of'
a salty mess of rituals, genetic pulses and a self-maintained drive,
brimming with fake-fight
emerald green, opal under the day-noon moonlight
how do you fight irrelevance?