Swallow, swallow, swallow




A gray hue coats the surface of every object


A drought in the mind


Scene after scene after…


Black and white spots


It’s hard to see they’re all the same


From this stranded, tall platform


Hard to feel the tang in


Murky water




A shade of nothing


Your brain just fits in a small, dark box


Which sits listlessly in your skull


Some kind of magnetic seal encloses


Any cluster of creativity


You realize the necessity of spontaneous jerks


Of vivid changes with the ability to bring forth


Demons, or angels, or


Even vampires which you are forced to watch creep


In hostility to their prey




The subtle poison holds more value


Than a day spent in the bottom of a dull, white sack


Staring at the cold, shining barbed wire which encircles


The only opening, the great escape


An end to the consumption of what could be


What appears to be


Of what is possibly


A compact, bow-tied, façade


Decorated innocently


To conceal a pack of lies


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