The Queen of Scene.

We're getting older, and getting heavier. Our reckless lifestyles of binge drinking, smoking, and drug abuse are taking their toll; ageing our bodies beyond their expected values.

She was once eccentric in aesthetics, but time has conventionalised her. Her hair, no longer as spiked, or as colourful, but a tame condition. A smoulder of youth. The time to be silly has passed; she has become the generation she once held in a measure of high awe, and would subsequently come to call her very own friends. Underage drinking and sweaty fumbles with a different boy every week in the local cemetery are no more. The excitement has faded; routine has become a stone pendant that clutches her chest, and is reflected in her eyes to anyone who knows her. Yes, even her clothes now represent the highstreet and not her former clique.

There is a distinction that must be met, as I consider the people of Brighton.
The difference between sleeping with someone to love them and sleeping with someone because you love yourself. I presume there is a genuine substance out there, beneath the ivy of verbatim, that longs to flourish, but cannot. Suffocated by the very ivy it bore.

She is one of a particular kind - able to distinguish between the genuine and false. She sings with the popular, but loves the truthful. She chooses, and she chooses well.

I wonder, if a person "hates people" but interacts with them continually; can they truly hate them? Perhaps they merely misunderstand, wishing to feel the warm breath of intimacy that never reaches them; their skin. An inevitable cycle is born.
The worst eventuality is for a heart to become cold, and lose touch with itself.

Those who sleep to love, love to sleep, and dream. The lovers, and those able to distinguish are liable to become jaded. Effectless, and mourn-worthy. They receive the criticisms of the world; the main extent of the asphyxiation - the words people use to suppress honesty. A lost world beneath the fauna; a beauty, untouched, and unloved, and a bitterness spawned. A hell of sorts, that is too fiery for those who feel the entirety or rawness of a certain aspect of their humanity to venture into. By this, it is then safer to remain in the sanctuary of the eerie brightness of the topsoil.

It takes around 20-30 minutes for the eyes to fully adjust to the darkness.