Baptise me in the filth

22 Jul

Rain crashes; puddles forming where the sewer can’t handle the immediate flow of water. The reflecting traffic lights are broken by a wading businessman.

Greyscale faces are framed by beanies and scarves. Each face lonely and disinterested. Steam rises from their gaping mouths. They cough and splutter mucus on every immediate thing.

Tyres hiss as they pierce the sliding water. The bouncing lights dance and shuffle their way down the rush and into the sewer.

Horns sound in the distance.
Biting southern winds lift the trailing mist and blow it across my face.
Closing my eyes, I leave the moisture to run down my face and drip from my chin.

Minutes pass. I slowly emerge from a cold wet trance.

Across the way stands a department store; its gaping mouth sucking at everything that dares pass its lips.

Inside, neon lights fuse with the constant beats bulging from each store.

Dancing, sidestepping, I narrowly miss hoards of made up women.

I imagine maggots crawling from their skin.

Thousands of maggots falling from the pores of made up women.

Each step sounds like the bite of a crunchy breakfast cereal; deafening, uneven, uncomfortable to hear.

Each step killing a thousand pores.

I picture them dancing to soulless music, applying make up to their decaying faces, swinging their heads; flowing hair falling over their shoulders.

Spurts of giggles explode from their throats.

Clumps of lave spew into the sink.

A night in the muck suits me much more than another second here in the lights of the beast. I want to burst out of its belly and feel the oily water splash and soak on my jeans as I run from thought.

Torrents of filth engulf the streets. Smells wash through the sewers, carrying me, making me unfathomable to other living souls.

Baptise me in the filth.

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