Symptoms of the masses


The curtains fall like a cloth drenched in blood falling to the ground and marking its place.

In this annex, a particular show is to unfold. Like the goers of paradise lost they search for God or some holy thing to name.

“Have you come to see a beautiful picture miss?” the host asked the ladies as the show begun.

And so it opened, the audience knew the horrors they found romantic had not ensued nor the comedic tragedies of their social transgression.

They sipped their spirits in shades of drunken melancholy trapped in a grayscale loop of loneliness.

When did their lives become such a sad melancholy show of drugged up excessive glamour?

Trapped in their diamond crusted bubble of dark, seething hell as they sipped and smiled through the show waiting for its commencement ravenously for unnecessary words to complete and transport them out of their numbing emotional stance.

The audience sat in shades of grey and like a 1920’s film they flashed and fade away into nothingness.

An edit of razors and secretes  

via Daily Prompt: Symptom


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