A candle illuminated the face of a girl. The girl sat at a restaurant table. The candle stood on that table. Her jewelry sparkled, superfluously brilliant. A smile decorated her lips, outwardly bound. The night surrounded her with a faint glow.
The world sat forty floors below her. It rustled and hurried and ran. Time also rustled and hurried and ran. The candle burned downwards to the table, to the ground. She waited and she felt. The world felt nothing at all.
She felt the scrapings of loneliness in this company of men. She did not smile at them, but outward beyond them. They acknowledged pretentiously that she destined her smil
A flicker?
Yes, I am,
And, no, I'm not -
No one to help me deal with this explosive thought.
Explosive?
Do I imply implosive, really?
Am I really real?
Or am I just -
A flicker?
Oh, wretched silence,
Wretched rot:
Do not reply so loud!
No one can hear your mute vibrations
Except my explosive trepidations
And rotten thoughts - galore!
I shall expire and I'll be no more
Than...
A flicker?