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So, of course, he smiled as the words unrolled.
And she didn’t question that, just as
He didn’t question the strange tatoo on her forehead.

So they layed in the soft folds of chaos
While a storm was incubating outside,
Just rumbling with fits of false starts.

And as the storm began to develop
The lightning clapped and the mourners thrashed,
Heartbeats raced and time crawled by.

When the cogs had all but stopped,
A great rush of colour burst from the
Very heart of the bleak, grey world.

A stream of reds and greens and blues,
Of yellows and purples and colours that aren’t real
Flowed in a spasm of sorts, a mild hallucination.

The marvellously sickening spectrum of life
Flashed by as eyes rolled in their sockets.
And then it stopped.

One colour, frozen in time; The colour of flesh.