internal overwhelmed,
displaced thoughts.
Colours drained
a long time ago.
Not again!
Dull eyes,
at fogged greyness
which suffocated
more efficiently
than any hangman's noose.
A glance
at stiffened cards.
On the front,
ugly cats doing something adorable.
Deplorable!
A wince.
What was coming next.
A swallow,
and another sigh
pushed into the cave where
hope and dreams and goals and desires rot.
The stagnant putrid part of the soul.
Raise of head.
Bare of white - millimetre by millimetre -
in a semblance of a smile.
Jaw clenched to stifle
Banshee's wail of despair.
There they were.
Expectant faces,
ruddy of cheek,
sparkling of eye,
overdone of tan, false lashes and sequin.
A clag of a multitude of sickly scent
invaded space.
The whole thing stank.
A shudder,
as gathered mob
raised voices and glasses.
"Happy Birthday!"
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