The also-rans – heavy-drinking, quarrelling neanderthals, so it appears to be

All par for a most hostile course ever – to tuck on in utterly inebriated aside seriously left wanting

Wandering, wishing… still dreaming of a way home again… the fallen pretenders

Namely magnetic zeroes who hold their own poison-faced portrayal midst poised paralysis

The forbidden footnote sneaks inner-within, very same one which tells the passing, meandering public what truly has to manage to make itself matter prior to a long-winded line of traversing, jaded, terrifically thirsty paragraphs

A chosen, sky-rocketing moment of overwhelming atrocity met with secretive bouts of drug-addled sadness which nervously abounds

Their concentration is off, these “maddening people”, albeit transformed magnetically towards – the calling canvas

Therein a broken, sweat-arisen Stradivarius violin sits, sets itself carefully upon his restless, relentless, arm whilst it begins to speak in creative tongues of its own choosing, attempts to make aforementioned sense yet again and for one brand new time out-of-reach of any other passing person

Is this perhaps their truest vision on earth? Only one they know of…
When it hurts, hurts, hurts: To be magnificently magnetizing

Soon as their pain suddenly became: Instrumentally remembered