The Happiness Chronicle: Happiness Drug

I have run with the quiet, the rain20151207_170112 (3)
And the riots of souls, surging up
Crawling through the bare lit streets,
Where moon faced people silhouette
Corners dealing packets of sunshine in
Grave haste, trench coats and bowler

Hats, identities hidden by garnished lies
Jazz music spilling from bars and oozing
Through the cities, drunkards swaying to
Imaginary beats, the pitter patter of fear
Stalking bus stops and train stations,
Splattered on fog covered windows, writing

Messages on cool pale skin, tattooing justice,
The beginning of another time, looming creatures
Creep chimney tops, figures against the ghastly
Storm, forms billowing amidst the rage, golden
Pocket watches smashing vellum of African drums,
The hasty scuffles of mothers running home to

Wide eyed infants, cribs smashed and splintered
Nursery rhymes reeling in wide loops, truth
Seekers sliding pamphlets under doorway
Arches groaning under the pressure of the
Weight of the written word, colours staining

A bruised rainbow, soft whispers sliding down
Curves of light, ignorant mundanes doped up on
Vocations, way stations flooded with dampened
Tickets and buzzing minds, this still island crumbling
Under this new wave of insanity, constant movement
And blur of various bodies, packing these small

Corridors with stained glass segments and dangerous
Weapons found in metal bins, the clattering bringing
Masses and black, alone and fearful backtracking
Through seas of elbows and hazed eyes, urging
Clear minded gazers to follow suit, monsters wrapping
Around free will asphyxiating its very existence.

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