Train Writ: demons

train 7:27AM departure, January 11th, 2010; on the train from Bramalea to Toronto’s Union Station, express to Union Station. Duration of trip unknown.

they sit and look. watch. judge, then look away. they are picky eaters.

only so much can be tasteful to the tongue, and it all means nothing if it doesn’t equate to sheer ecstacy. when the tongue rings for more, they hunt. when it becomes thick like sandpaper, they are diapleased, so they search harder.

can’t see the rainbow in the glass of red wine, can you? demons are hungry for your silence. you see no pleasure in what they say or do, but they certainly can, so they fuel you on into this clausterphobic spiral they spin, called society. they smile as you spin out of control, unconciously in your concentric waves from your lips. keep trying like a fool.

it’ll all make sense, they’ll tell you, when the day is ripe and you can try it all again. who knew they turn the earth around the sun.

demons are born overnight, and the cycle restarts. who is to break from it, not a soul will tell. rather, those that warn are too consumed in the blender. sad how we decide not to listen.