Eurphoria

The bitter smell of
spray paint,

early on a spring morning.

Artistic perspectives of biblical scenes.

This all leads to
late nights,

tainted with the stench of energy

and the sounds of elephants on roof tops.

We sneak around like agents on a mission.

We recreate epic battles between neighboring castles.

Odd misplaced characters wage wars

for reasons unknown to them

Their lives being
hurtled into

broken pieces, which inflict pain upon the opposed.

No battle wounds yet,

just the stinging of the fragments.

Most of this is
because of an old friend who still remains

with more history now then ever.

Fueling us with things we need not consume

for these events to take place.

Fighting for no
reason but our own sick pleasure.

Up and down on staircases.

Swords flying through the air.

Piercing screams behind us.

The flashing lights of arcades have blinded us,

and now the sun sets in the distance.

With the soundtrack of the ocean,

we wage war in public

and no one says a thing.

Tongues stained with
remnants of the night.

Brains gone completely numb.

The Aztec deity watches over us as we journey home.

As we return,

no one speaks.

We just listen.

Our broken, battered vessel flies down dark,

unwanted,

crowded,

paths to our sanctuary.

More Wars being
fueled

this time by small armies of

fantastic and strange creatures.

We have fallen into their trap.

This place is
strange,

but we feel at home.

We sit comfortably.

Portraits and statues

of ancient gods.

Some still thriving.

Some dead and gone.

Yet their legend lives on

We are too filled and
fueled by adrenaline to sleep.

The collection of monsters does nothing for it.

The broken ship is not ready for another journey,

but we leave anyway.

A much shorter
journey is taken

through tunnels of light and sound.

Again we listen, but not as much.

There is always much more dialogue

between us on these shorter journeys.

As we arrive at our
destination,

we ask ourselves, even now, even before then:

“Why do we come here?”

Though we all know the answer:

it is a pointless journey

simply to cause hell in the simple lives

of these mutated and nocturnal beings

that dwell here overnight.

The rulers of this atrocious land only allow them

to come out at night,

to go against their nature,

forced to become creatures of the night.

Through empty
corridors we walk.

Beams of light,

Fantastic creatures,

heroes, Villains,

all being moved by the mutants attacking us.

Throughout our
journey,

we come across an idol,

wielding his weapon of choice.

He keeps this place as holy and clean as he possibly can.

Still searching to see him again,

we fear he has been replaced.

On our returning
voyage,

home for the night,

we speak of past times and recent events.

Once home again,

we dazzle our eyes with moving pictures.

Some we control,

some we cannot.

They are timeless.

We do not sleep.

We never sleep.

Not on nights like these.