Money Floor

Who knows what the heads contain as bodies swish and coagulate on the money floor? Vapid thoughts licking at the sway of men that only seem to be real.

'Bodies swish and coagulate on the money floor.'

While the pulse and pop of the rhythm realises a release of those that feed into the never rolling plane of consistency.

It seems like rebellion, but humans of middling content are a lowly inexperienced consciousness despite their protestations.

And who am I to say? Except it feels like truth as I sit and listen to their blab and bubber. It's all a blaah of wah wah sound, quivering in the night.

I can feel the drip of water proceeding down my neck.  I left the place and stood in the rain as the others ran and hid. 

Poo poo, they couldn't handle the pin pricks of reality. This is the way things are: Bad Conscience.

I stifle laughter for this is it, a never ending high heeled flirtation never to reach that clenched teeth terminus despite the dreams and the innocent smiling that designates a distraction.