All will be well

Three dimensions of a demented fantasy        
plays in effervescent locomotion.          
My breath is hijacked,        
strictly stridden out of my lungs;          
their elements held up high in the air:        
signalling surreptitious surrender.          
My twilight smile rivals        
various arctic grimaces;        
unleashing machine-gun accusations        
from recognized safety stations.          
        
From ticks to tocks cannibalistic        
suave silences kindle skin for heat;        
shocking our time incandescent.      
Blistering rapidly-make haste-      
the atmosphere's tinted sooty.      
Bullets creep closer while the night        
brings down obscure eyelids.      
Shaking, not expecting the suicidal        
surge that swells inside the depths        
of her tenebrosity.      
       
I flaunt complications over my shoulders        
as a shawl interlaced with stress.      
Submitting to the exertion of step-after-step,        
because I was told by a black-night        
whisperer that all will be well.        
So with the bullets brushing my back        
and the nightmares eclipsing my vision.        
All will be well.