Runway

Lights-

Blinding white flames in the skyline.

Music-

Blaring, like there's no tomorrow.

Fashion-

Lilacs, tulips, daffodils draped on my skin.

The sheer feel of silk,

Like time slipping through my fingertips.

There's an indocile war of paint,

The evidence?

All over my face.

Shoes five, ten inches.

Stepping gets harder, but sexier.

I don't know where I am.

As I slice through, getting to the edge is gain.

I become dutiful to the rants

Of my unseen audience.

Baffling isn't an issue,

This is home.