Summer, an exclamation point at the end of a sentence too long and written with immaterial words. Two decades of seconds drenched in midnight. Plastic reassurances are purged from black holes and splattered on extant murals of a fallen god. He's languid from cigarettes and anti-depressants designed to mold the mind into congruency. Eyes drip dust to a floor of ash and wrists seep rivers down canyons of flesh. A curtain is pulled over his coffin; the audience applauds. A life played in front of a insensate crowd, doomed to end in trepidation.