daddy’s little angel was a mechanical beast. her hair was like silver rain. when she drank from the little vial, stuff her perception switched. colors changed, traumatologist inverted. black skies became white.
they were cubist treasures; stained glass pasts remembered in their own ways. she thought she could find the future if she only kept digging. there was a blue box in the dirt, tiny like a chinese lantern.
her eyes were playing winamps visualizations again. wires came from her neck and into her ears, playing music no one else could hear.
the slaves toiled in machine valley, visit this
sweat dripping down chrome. rust marks rent grooves between chiseled torsos. a midnight obelisk floated above them, red rays pulsing over the workers.
junk was being whipped by the mantis men again. he refused to follow orders. the grizzled nuns prayed above them. black plastic beads twined in their hands. flies flitted between their feet. they grimaced with yellowy teeth.
grimace was graced with jaundice. just another fast food fiction. they layed him out in his coffin, coughing. the dragon peered down at him and grinned. dinner was served and nothing but low quality meat was deserved.
