The Microphone Impregnated With Your DNA
I was there that night when you, under the red lights with your red shirt, sweat slick and sticking to your torso like a lover, cut your cheek on your microphone.
That cheek, your right one, beautiful and skeletal beneath the uncanny blue of your thick lashed eyes, dripped blood as damp and red as the shirt on your back and the lights on your hair.
4 Comments:
Red Blood. Red Hair. Red Shirt.
Seems to all fit together.
It breeds curiosity!
Rock on.
Darling, Red blood, Red LIGHTS, Red Shirt. His hair is as black as, well, black. There is no appropriate comparison to be made.
What about this description, this slather of words, sparks you curiosity? If you don't mind me asking.
I would never mind you asking anything.
The post is a snapshot of time. A flick of a mental switch and the thoughts brought forth at that moment. But the thoughts only hint at the thing. They don’t reveal the total. There is one level, the basic, in which my curiosity just wants to know more. What the chain of events were which lead to someone watching this scene.
But the deeper curiosity is of what are the feelings and the past that paints these simple reds with so much importance and depth.
Yup.
Rock on!
The chain of events that lead up to this moment (the moment in question), started firstly and most importantly with music and the makers of such. With the band. (My god that makes me sound like a groupie, quite untrue). It leads like any other moment, to another. Moments such as: this one and this one. And then some.
The red in the moment written is significant because it was everywhere and it fits so wonderfully, it describes the feeling, the 'emotion' laced throughout my further interactions with (I mention no names).
When all else fails, see them only at night and blame it all on the moon.
Post a Comment
<< Home