Frictionless to me

In a red velvety room the hammer swings rapidly. One can only imagine what is going on outside. Inside all is warm and slick from the friction. Sweat pours from the forehead and runs down the body, as untold crimes are committed. Plural is the form of beating that will be taking place here. An author would write a book, a sergeant would shout orders and a Buddhist might strive to be better, but we all will turn a lighter shade of pale. To get here it often takes time or money or maybe sheer force. Under, one feels good. Outside the window the world passes by with its uncanny ability to ignore. I will no longer try and find a scapegoat for what has been done. If people will be sad then so be it. I will paint my walls green and wait for the deprivation to begin. Fear your securities and indulge in your insecurities. When they say that its not that hard I agree and laugh.