it was a transitive state of dissonance, a celestial paradox, a pair of ducks on a riding lawn mower, a snow blower, a snow globe with happy new year written inside

it was watching the water go down the drain, drained of wherewithal, with out while so heavily content that tears flowed down onto the trembling lips of desire softly moaning

it was a shooting star, shooting into the sky with bullets made of stardust, dust motes floating into the sky, the mites within your eyeballs if you blink too hard to see them swim

incidentally inciting a riot, accidentally assisting an arson, fundamentally failing at fruitful conversation, conversely creating condemnation, all while whispering unsettling words

it was a transitive state of dissonance, incidentally inciting a riot, it was a shooting star, all while watching the water go down the drain, it was all it was nothing, it was real, it was now