They say the city never sleeps, but the street was quiet and dark. I held my breath and tried to hear the deep song of the city, could I hear the heartbeat of the soul, but I heard little, only the rustle of the wind in the gossip of the night. I felt disturbed, uneasy, annoyed perhaps, by this void, by the absence. I yearned for a jolt of madness, but just now when I was in search for it, the madness seemed to evaporate at every turn. A young girl in the corner possessed the inflamed, black eyes of a gypsy, her luscious stares tortured me, but when I approached her, her eyes turned flat and dull, and I lost my taste for her. The muscles of her olive colored calves contracted, I felt her gentle, pointy breasts screaming, I was haunted, but when I pulled her close to me, her body collapsed, her fatty arms released my captivation, her heavy torso disgusted me, and I lost my appetite. This madness, to possess, this physical need to enforce myself upon the helpless creature who had surrendered herself, this need to impose myself by force of will, it rose from within, it came out, and hang there in the air, motionless, pointless, aimless. Dawn rose. Normalcy rose. Bodies responding to their habitual, biological cycle woke up and filled the streets of day. I was engulfed by this tide, and I too disappeared into the day, sane, normal, all without madness. It was then, that I could hear the echo of the deep song.
"I will die
in the roses
they will kill me"
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