Miami (Edited Freewriting)

The animals move along their beaten path, tightly shielded from their womb. The unworthy among them still demand respect, but somehow all seem beautiful. Their hills are not gone but rebuilt, with curious angles and slopes. The color of the world is faded and dying. A smeared pastel horizon of tessellations and shapes, of pinks and oranges and yellows, and Black and white never stop arguing.The sound particles are soothingly infinite, but eventually I hear the world derail, and come to a screeching halt.