Parataxic Distortion

Drink of the poison again,

just a sip.

Run across spotless snowy beaches,

ignoring what should be the sands of time

slipping between your toes.

Revel in electric pulses, surging through

the failed routine of disconnect.

Race along train tracks, rusty and sharp,

trailing parallel lines back to misery.

Mind wiped clean like the pristine seaside;

you swear upon a fresh start.

…But the eccentric, sparkly necklace will always be

stained electric blue.

The icy river will always be cracked and near

breaking point.

Clementines will always fade to tangerines,

will fade to pits.

Smile. Cry. Deny.

Repeat.