Gunsmoke Overkill Robe

Bring rain to fall and light up the evening sky. Signs reign overhead. Passing cars zoom around, the sound if displaced air reflects off billboards and enters through cracked windows. It’ s unknown how individual tire marks form on these streets. The sight of burnt rubber elicits supposed reenactments of events that happened here. This lack of spring outside, this movement from winter to summer with no in-between causes disturbances. Warm weather keeps us awake and pulling covers off our overheated frames. It used to be cold at night, so frightened souls could blink away the hours. Restlessness persists on nights when we reminisce. It’s the search through consciousness to align pieces of the past that guides us to doom. We ride on horseback through this land they called the Valley, side-by-side, with a hint of wind in our faces. We’re humming along with an old folk song, while glowing lights surround. Insect wing whispers echo in our ears. Our fate is inevitable. It begins with a lull in conversation; a lack of contact. Our destination draws near. We have no cheer left in our once rosy cheeks.