We were the smartest people in the world. Beautful minds and delicte faces, scattered in eternal summer bliss at twilight. We brush the trimmed hairs of the golf green. The sun peaks at 9, bursting into flame and dying. We keep the light going into the hours of the night.
Smoke fills the air and deep truths, or at least what we consider so, pour out of our mouths, like innocence poured out of our veins days earlier. The earth is round and we see the changing shades. Some of us on thriving on a fatal mix of flesh bred ectasy and drunken air, others are fueled on macabre realizations of the our nature. Yet these opposing emotions fuel the same words from our damp lips. We sit up and play music. An old wooden guitar has pounding strings, erecting emotion with each deepening strum. Tortured, beautiful, wanting and taking, we sing and watch. The world is looking at us. We drift into a coma. We no longer know where we end and where the universe begins. It will not stay this way, we are too smart to fall into the deadly trap. We are too smart to care.