Artificial laughter like needles
in your eardrums, rings out
without a doubt into the air.
Poison in the breaths you take
you pack your things then sit and wait,
by the door where you look through
the glass, but the picture is blurry.
You obsessively clinging to the etchings
on the wall maddened by the counting
of the days.
Abandon those who see the maze
and all the other lies
for what they are.
Burning generations of the dead
siphoned out of the depths like
blood from veins.
So little time in all remains.
We cannot put things off for any longer.
Everyone must reach inside letting
then and now collide. Every single time
they lied they drifted further
out into the dark.
Further Out
Teleporting Typewriter 