Our infection has took on its life, beaming into purple skies. We have a front row seat to the show. Draped in the splendour of antiquated wisdom, we defy logic and turn shoulders to important doctors. There is no vista more beautiful than pleasure, more free than a whale in a plastic sea. We break the cellophane of the envelopes we\'re trapped in, little pills of magic when we\'re drugged and incoherent. Spilling words no one can understand. I\'ve done it again, pursued the relapse and gaped like a still black. On a hallow ride, always a foot behind a white rabbit. I hear a muffled response, a soft goodbye lingering in the snow of my ear. Life is the betrayal of some kind of wise eyes, brother of unrestrained madness. I cut at the breath of the link. Forgiveness is a hymn, but I can\'t muster up the strength to sing when I\'m moody and brooding. Left to wither in a blue room, there\'s nothing I\'m interested in. The pour of the cloudburst wets the day and the sands of time are a hallucination, spiders flicking constellations at the wall of memory. I am a perfect host, a pink sunset in a looking glass of sentimental weakness. Eyes roll to the back of the head and a fountain of melting wax flows. An explosion of colours burst from the sugar vent, a chamber of explicit fun. I see a glint of sweetness consumed by this morning\'s dewdrop, the blood flow of a seizure etched on papyrus, a surge of reckless emotions. Consumed by ecstasy. I have no thoughts in my brain.