Shane Ward- Age: 20

25 November 2008

Air Conditioned Nightmare

Smooth, sedentary pleasures are going swimmingly.

In this white palace with this chalice of malice.

Each gulp of despair out of desperation keeps me afloat.

Seemingly horrid dreams come to my attention.

This barren, post-apocalyptic wasteland is inert and stiff.
The balustrades have fallen around me; crumpled debris about.

My nightingale will come. My prize jewel will sing my carcass back to life.

Arise once again in this nothingness. Please. Make it stop.

Get me out of this Air Conditioned Nightmare.

You and me can only feel despair; there is no air.

I asphyxiate myself in this silence, in this rubble and haze.

I lynch myself on my choking words. I gouge out my eyes with a plunger.

Help me. I'm coming down. Please. Make it stop. Please.

I feel refreshed, I feel replinished. I can no longer see, I can no longer breath.

Breathable surfaces suffice the sufficient. The eerie silence is long gone.

I can hear a mandolin. I know I'll be saved. I can feel tentacles mind rape me.

Slithering, sinister malevolent forces are now benevolent with their appendages.

Now hear me out. My pyromania victimizes yet another fruitful will. Ups and downs, pros and cons. Poltergeist.