Presence.

You leave the cinema with an alligator learning of presence.

Your life lie in his mind, his hands.

Undisturbed, the life you wished, vanishing without sight. 

Mother spoke you into a lonely frenzy.

Plea with the law of ineptitude, foresaw you guilty.

Your blast of plastic emotion frostbit the last of every souls perception.

Perfection was admitted as repentance.

Laughing off the sentence was believed to allow your individuality.

Plastered all throughout the tunnels of your choice was the image displaying all evil.

Breathtaking views of oily machines sent shivers up the spine you forced.

Reality played your vindictive thoughts.

You released the handle's lever.