You won’t be able to see the images of pride and non-conscience streaming though in the midst of taffeta and suede clips to the hair. No hairline in sight but the globes twirl to reveal the happenings that should just remain sounds. The voices come though with brainless appeal. Rejoicing for the ones who stand tall and survive the longest days and longer nights. Shoulders hunched over with expectation as seizures overwhelm the dancers in flight. Music lifts off and the engines drown the mindless chatter. Voices shift in recognition of what is to come.
Talk to me as a I stream through the elements at my finger tips. Ooh! The glorous hair, dark and full with the promise of hands that won’t stop rummaging for how it got that way. Yes! Her lips are too red, a color we wear well except for them. Damn! Her form is formidable and a reflection of all the work that needs to be done.
You don’t like the numbers you see, and you fear that in order to improve your chances, you must embrace the darkness of the balls in your eyes that always shine too brightly when the competition wrecks the mood.
The calculations never stray from the print of lit up faces, minted hashtags, the moon and the sun fighting for attention, buttermilk pouring into a batter of discernment and the battered bodies of soulful warriors lying in the dirt burning with the sun’s revenge.
The diamond chandeliers will guide the hypocrites onto the stage for memorizations and the roll call of bedazzled folks with blood-smeared glasses. The orchestra plays on and off, and a sea of trained emoticons with shuffled emotions, waft through — with the essence of knowing how their battlefield makes the ones that carry daring soldiers of word — seem so sullen with imaginative honor.
The golden prize will retrieve all the wealth of statutory benefits in accordance with pinkish tulle wrapped around the neck of legions of us who are sworn to the privacy of the timelines we worship and pray for — each time the expiration of a worthy number forces our attention away from the golden moments of excess.
You’re afraid to go blind because you won’t go for the gold. But the treasure of elitism will save your sight from aging into the enlightenment of action and purpose.
That’s why you’re a loser.