A new kind of survival mode arises
as weak fights off weakest.
The staunch scent of death
rises through the breath of innocent passers by.
A curious couple momentarily pauses to peer
into the looking glass,
unaware that the reflection revealed
portrays only their truest reality, distorted.
Lies drip easily off the tongue
like pearls elegantly strung linger around the neck.
Fiery darts soar victoriously
while the clean-up crew stands by.
"Move along, folks. Nothin' here to see;
just death in this life of a mess."
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