The pistol's eye screamed rainbow-colored streamers.

Click-clack, chamber's as empty as a genie's bottle.

And he murdered twilight, and he forsook his muse.

Sanity is fleeting—one moment gracing us with clarity

the next drowning our dreams in the proverbial muck.

Crimson spoke to him while splattering his trench coat.

"Nothingness is God," she muttered, her eyes fluttering.

"A dirty bastard robbing his concubine at midnight."

No wait—his hands are wrinkled, how can this be?

Where has time gone?

Is there nothing by but

thick skinned-death?

Oh Genie, she returned eventually.

Colors blinded his vision

and he fell

deeper

deeper

into the void.