In Loving Memory Part 1

Your eyes are the only escape here. brilliant beams shoot, swooshing to and fro these blinding laser lights melt a white-hot because once they were few and daringly dim, now they are thousands, millions, zillions. Any attention can’t refrain, yet burning tubes rarely used or watched but by one beyond the lights lies a dank deadened roof solid, firm but isolated. Nobody can be found however sound refuses to down, books are thrown about, boxes cascade and line the walls white vanilla plain, bare with nothing to give. Pristine metal clashes with dry dark oak silver speckled sprayed radiators pick key positions from which to warm clothes stand on boxes, spilling out of them, or crawl till they sprawl on the bear bottom.