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?