Remember me, orange sky?

I know you are here to tell me that the weather will change. You are here to echo back the ringing in my ears and to let me know how small I am in relation to the sky where it is blue somewhere, black somewhere else, with white dots moving in slow motion across lazy evening skies through the trees. You are here to isolate the sensation of stillness in my immediate surroundings. Nothing even crawls. All are resting or in drunken cajolery without intent to attend Sunday mass. There are fireworks going off in the minds of many. The orange sky is lost to them. They are elsewhere. The deserted Sahara... left Sarah alone in her bed without her clothes... Cruel boys took them away and she will never fully recover from her uncovered flaws and her pigeon toed two step, though she will never fly unless from off the fire escape, sounding like a garbage bag tossed out into the back alley, there are nastier exits than the one in store for you... The orange sky, like none other. Nothing even rhymes to define. Nudity is illuminated in a lighter hue. The trees are silhouettes. Ambiens, jameson and blow. Missing out on the rager down the way. The vibe changed and everyone is self conscious instead of self-absent and sometimes the alcohol leads to behavior more sexual than they could ever tentatively guess. Some unforgivable shit but this yellow-red sky ignores and consumes all concerns simultaneously like alcohol washes away sins as well as compounds. We are all naked underneath our clothes. The fading grey orange eyes of this great painted ceiling will look down at us and our stupid decisions with the indifference of an anemone.