The existential vacuum howls, it screams, strings of drool, mouth agape.
Pushing us to silence it under the blunted blows of our momentary escapism.
A sigh of relief as we step with clumsy feet and scuffed up shoes toward the encroaching void.
Trying to strike a balance between action and distraction.
Splashing gasoline against the flames with measured wrists and splintered lips.
Trying to waltz our way, to our graves, with something left to miss.