Wanna ride?
From all society’s minds the riders come
Split identities by morality,
Reputation and earthly cravings.
Angels by morning,
Vampires by night.
Sons of their ancestors they are
Whose backs are bare
And whose faces unseen.
Come on, where the journey starts in a place where the trees whisper the secrets of those who creep. A place where the stars glow over the suspicious silence. At the eleventh hour, the first dew falls on the stained grasses.
How much longer do you have?
There they go – puffing, groaning over unspeakable means as they entwine in each other’s arms. When the hour hand strikes, they call it over. Another ride, more to come.
So they’re here.
Over postures of devastation they creep.
Their rhythm taking its physical form.
To the spewing evidence of the beat,
They’re carried away to the red dimension.
Then its over.
Its done with.
The ride worthwhile.
The experience sublime.
The body justifiably defined.
In this place, the lights barely kiss the ground. Indistinct music graces the outrageous shadows. It’s a feast for the riders and a thrill for the innocent. This is the common and lustful journey to a place called Lake Drive.
Use…or get exploited.
*It’s just around.
Thank you, Dorothe, for the featured image.