entertainment that can only sidestep the spiritual ennui felt in the
death of the day. Nights like this are masks to the murder of calling;
the crisp break from normalcy and the departure toward mediocrity.
On my shoulders wisdom rests, wrought with careless abandon and cautious
advance, two sides of the same coin, the same answer from a different
perspective. My world on my shoulders.
Of course this night withers, a night like this dies a decadent
expiration leaving memories fondly shaped and colored, to be held on
another night like this, to die thusly.
Marcelle D. Ward