Jealous in a Sanctuary
It was yesterday my shadows finally caught a glide on the wind and saw red in humor. Earlier I had revealed to the world I was afraid to be poked. Turbines with manifest destiny, and a glow shudder to flames bespeeched where a famine timid and shortly stood upright, I saw what I assumed to be the beginning of another sky but the likes of the dessert bowl of dust howling sweeped me; it was the blinds being crisscrossed. Blinds which a shadow knew to avoid.
I skipped dangling with my head on my shoulders, watching baphomet exited of cards, remaining holistered, doing his iconic jump, and the grimmer smiles zooing on the horizon, with bad poetry not a care to flip on its side. And my eyes rotated in the mind before any recommendation of reality would have me know it. Spewing like a bulb with six legs, a bezel worth its three bodies, its grace for two antennas, and a monstrous skeleton, no matter the sporting tan. Anthropomorphizing it to know what was the matter, it only wanted to shrug, and stand on wires, where all the rotation were like calluses.
But there was a hatch, at the top of it all: A globe too fond of clapping its tenets. Observantly ordinary. Haunting specifically this side of history. Brazen, and a breath for the edge of blunt awakening hoarded in on a rainy night, one where the beach could easily build sand castles if it had ants, I saw the fawning of my blade, and the cut of curtains. Had my shadow parachuted?