He placed his hands firmly on the wooden bench. Minutes ago he was smiling, chatting, happy, all at the same time. Minutes later his rampart of tears crumbled.
Diaphanous conversation invaded his porous skin and sapped him of his energy to perceive his surrondings. Words were no longer words; they merely drifted and flowed like sand from his mind. Images diminished into chromatic blotches. Maybe there was something or someone that captured his attentions, but he felt no power in him to linger on these tchotchkes. Desires not being fulfilled are trite feelings; he discounted these feelings as incongruencies upon his character.
He was unsure what he came to this place in the first place. All he knew was that he wanted to leave, mentally. Flickering spots pirouetted like tutus with sequins stitched on them. What was the point of it all? Laughter echoes in the empty heart; but that was all he heard. He wanted to annihilate these emotional barriers so badly. Trundling all these distance; but yet nothing tangible was presented in his palms. Queries were left unanswered; replies were left unsatisfactory. Now everything is just a complete blurring of lines between suppression and real desires. The colours criss-cross into a tapestry of bitter sorrow and regret. That was supposed to be silly. But he just had to feel that way; he couldn't help it.
A few more minutes passed. Suddenly he remembered what he came for. He had sought refuge and solace, but he had never sought it in Mercury. Twisted and gnarled darts of the most enroaching of poisons tattooed behindbacks; yarns of tales spun in a web of lies. He wanted a place to hide. A place to be safe. And accepting anyone, who would be gracious and accepting of imperfection. In stoic silence would true connections network. Perfection through imperfection. Perfection through silence.
And he turned to observe other objects of interest. Hiding.
i want to fall through the crack of the world.