chatting with npcs

A red canvas pauses to notice us.

To hear the silent blaze of red and orange as it seeps between skyscrapers. Where does the city end and the sunset begin.

The air grows richer with layers of sensory indulgence.

The entire room glows with a soft, inviting luminescence.

Mellifluous strains of a jazz saxophone.

I flick through magazines, skimming through the sheen and screams, finding solace in silent pages where my chaos softly rages.

I flick through magazines, where paper queens and borrowed scenes whisper promises they never own, in a world that feels like borrowed bone.