Azure Angels (IN PROGRESS)

💀AZURE ANGELS💀

❤

It was dark out...

         Nothing was making any sense, these random blurry shapes speeding by -
"...one after the other; they nibble, bite into frontal lobe pudding. On and on, and everywhere, until it eventually happens, they finally force you to take that second look...".
         We were full throttle, elbow to elbow, in a friend's, windows tightly shut, shit Tesla. No sound inside, but the state of our collective dispare. That night we created the stampeding chaos swift afoot on our sorry asses. Astride a void of our own making, cascading asphalt in the night, racing in a pointless dash for some, backward ass, girl's house, on the far outskirts of the city.

After what was sent in motion tonight, being a passenger in this car, The Movement, whilst the speed continues warping our perceptions, clawing for desperate for reality. "Just made this hard to not see being swallowed into nothing but the futility of nonsense. Being out there at such, late, winter, hours...

Every window was closed, for some reason even the air vents were kept shut. Raw speed making everyone clench a gut full of vertigo. Running, running away at electric speeds!

Smoking white the rubber gnawed, squealed, and bore down on a dark stretch of pavement, cold, wet. Speeding our desperate race for city limits. Streetlights playing in the rain filled potholes suddenly beat into fleeting splashes of diamond winged nymphs that disappear as soon as they become...

         Immaculate velocities suddenly taking hold of me, makes you want to just pass out, disconnect. "Dissolve away from this plane of reality." I absolutely didn't want to be there. Out the window, an endless parade of blotchy back shapes, one after another. Houses seemed to be bunched up against each other; "The poor man's dream! Corrupt and thinning faith in each cheap knockoff of a middle-class life, surely becoming thin. What once aided the lies he whispered to himself to fall asleep works less each night like this.
         Then we were here, a dusty back two-way road. The air, (besides tense) cold, distant, felt as empty as well just strangely off. At least I could feel the reality of our actions beginning to creep up my leg. I could feel it's claws digging into my shin.

         Anxiety; feeling more and more like a stone in our guts. Where did we go wrong? Chaos of our "coven" in flames around us, while suddenly entertaining an gut urge: We were wrong?
         No lights this far out, into the literal black night; soul-less asphalt. Slithering on and on throughout the country.

         “You might realize we're on road straight out into to nothing, no plan, no Meche's pale hand in mine …”, I mumbled partially a laud, being blatantly passive aggressive as usual, I kind of belched, grunted, mumbled the rest though my teeth, “...cant you see! This night's slowly robbing our damn breath, death of a dream, it hungers. Towering above us, moving in for the kill. A faceless consequence ravenous for who's still left.
         Personified by pitch black January night, a putrid rot smell lingering of our dirty deed or "magic" ja; the night taking the shape of a slack jaw zombie, coming for us all; while we head straight towards the darkness, down that gullet.
         “So much space to feel afraid in.” Meche chimed in, a tender agonizing and clear whisper. "To feel your fingers, slip clear of the, lege, (she was being summoned by the dream..) and ... everything tumbling... tumble out, of.. control."

Couple miles on, Meche though sometimes with us but, mostly tip toeing through lush black poppy fields, in a bluish haze of the dreamy death. Even she had her nerves on end. Gabriel kept escalating into mayhem, chaos, confusion, regret, it was too much for the dumb bloke!

Gabriel, was the evening's driver. He was the one, ranting, yelling. We're miles away from Tina's house, and you get the lowest I.Q. of us all in full melt down. I hate his guts. A useless six foot something, dope. Lunging spit on the windshield every word he was able to blare out.

His filthy fingers, chipped fingernails, black crud under them, Crack junkies fingers are always dingy, and burnt. Ripped a chunk of dark curly hair with his right hand, again, again.

"Oh, fuck! Shit, shit!", Gabe was spiraling down a full blown nervous break down, "Jesus!"

Nobody thought to put the Radio on.

Beneath Gabriel's epic freakout, a twisted, a maniacal cackling crept upon us, not stop. As if someone gave her a queue, a child like, a little girls laughter, over and over. Bringing the rest of our minds back to the annoying dolls that would never shut up, dolls that we buried deep, way back, faraway into the dark of a bruised childhood.