Yores of Don’t

“What am I doing…”,
She drifts thermochromically,
Lightly spiraling in combative
Sleepless waves, galactically.

“Watch this”,
He manically gleams,
Shooting fantastical laser beams
While he hums chauvinistically.

She chases repetitively,
Nautically penned, senses,
With what could actually be
Dyslexia’s disease.

“The how’s, I now know”,
He easily promises
Much too

While (s)he heaves,
Nonsensically half swears
“I won’t”.



Horrid horns in repetitive crescendos start blaring in section-Q.
Planetary fissions have been happening frequently at The Acrux
Rotary Sphere’s. I run to the gravitation ships located at the Heart
Sector of Spiral Headquarters, racing down the steps at the helix
Guard railings, fervently sliding down towards the atrium, now
Congested with silhouettes in lines, practicing each blasting hex
Gained during the last virtual-motion training simulation at HQ.
Weaving variant pulses in flaming arcs of formations inside Isogriv
Visual Optics from implanted chips. Swiftly, in order, they shrunk
Quarantined debris in conjured tangerine electric laser cages. Ting:
Eradicated masses within a blink. Garrulous cries chatter at marvels;
Neglecting the death count. Tainted brigades of a fleeting aberration.
Morose rebuttals of abhorrences inside this forgotten spaceship,

Used –End.