Reach forward, grasp a desperate, flinching hand. While fleshing out some empty fingerbowl of humanity, you draw a quiet smirk from the expansive bubbles of skin stretching from Point A to Point XZY in a soft, swollen spot on your face. Beauty is wrapped and oozing from the foreclosed edges of this hard-won memory. Spattered with disdain, you run your paling, inferior fingertips ‘cross the jagged ruffles of that lowly, glistening power-symbol. Through each moment of mounting discomfort, maintaining your subtle smile, complete with darting cerulean capsules that float (with a governmental kick) in the forefront of my every spoken word. My movements bleat backwards as a berated carousel through capillaries and more immense systematic orchestrations. My desperate, flinching hands left to vellicate with superior violence in sickly serene solemnity.