Sisters of Maya

I am 249 and up,
I am plastic fantastic.
Everything is possible but nothing is real.
Dangle on the silver string spider web,
streamlined and speeding through the nothing and always forever.
We are calling,
ephemerally.
Please you want to come over here,
and discover something amazing, profound and collosal does exist.
You decay and lose your sense of reality on your long arduous trip to find us,
we are the only ones who praise you as your corruption breaks the skin in small postules,
then we eat you in the tiniest of pieces from the inside out.
Chaos children,
calling out.
With our phonic electronic
cigarette dreams.
We're not proud, or sad, or anything really,
truly free from the moral hemispheres of tired boring hum drum humanity,
We love the sound of your sonic bubonic
cigarette screams.

Smoke up,
Have a drink,
hit the little plastic keys and watch as the points of light change so ephemerally,
into something which symbolises reality.
As long as you're distracted really,
we can play.