Particles in motion, waving from behind the glass.
Little people on the playground, spread like molecules of gas.
You can smell it coming, with lips up to the grass.
The acid in the atmosphere-the alkaline friendliness of the mass.

Amidst the seething agony, a boy has cut his finger.
He studies the blood flow silently, to let his fascination linger.

Things aren't pretty when you see them.
Velvet rivers trickle down.
Blindfolds carress imagination.
The curious villagers gather around
Please hide my eyes from this tragedy.
I cannot stand hypocrisy.