Wearing salvation by a string

Wearing salvation by a string, connected to a lapel of amorous disgust, leaves her second-guessing the quality and the quantity of finding romance hidden away in the attic of her mental faculties. When all else failed she turned to drugs to satisfy her most urgent need for escape, to get away from the bustle of the city streets and forget about the dead bodies piled up in mounds and mounds, while the clouds started to burst with music, not quite divine, not quite satanic, but rather more earthly and homebound like the divisions in her emotional life. I found her sitting all alone, without a coat, in a green cove overgrown with vines and weeds. The answers were inside her; the questions were above, circling around the fairest clouds preparing to rupture into the most beautiful array of purposeful devices, when all it to come and all that is to hide is shown in clever disguises underneath the spinning of her mescaline veneer. Protect. Salvage. Sear the words onto her sleeve, the lyrics of justice and penitence and hope. These days of shock-value create not the disdainful odiousness of risk, but more of a safety net, where she could hang her coat from, and leave second guessing behind.