About her bare moments,
Ask life, what’s true.
Drunken language spits mad honey wax
Its possible insanity,
But she won’t take it.
Her hand is two sided,
The faces staring back,
Jeering through blank expressions,
Flip it this way or that,
Either will play a fictionalized reality.
So as by skipping,
Lightly through the years,
Flickering in and out,
Skipping beats like dust on the tables.
Don’t blink.
Inside she feels the organs play,
Twitching, moaning, shuddering,
Through the tugging,
And the melody thats swelling.
The chosen ones.
The ancient souls that awaken her,
Necessity, strength, curiotisties,
Pull into a dance for life,
No death without light.
Go Ask Alley - life is art 
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