Time was a heavy abrasive, stripping the walls of Being until Precisely Nothing was left right. Or wrong. Something echoed through the empty spaces, filling the in-betweens and outsides of frayed ends.
Thoughts slow to a gangster crawl.
After stumbling through obstacles, falling through this many holes, perhaps its not falling down anymore. Its falling up.
While waiting for nothing to happen, the dissatisfied art-to-choke heart becomes severed from the vessels, leaving one pallid drifter alone outside the wall, peering in through bent glass at broken men playing games in world domination.
These are the things we keep.
The kitchen appliances' s.o.s. begins again. Shattered glass on the maroon tiles like so many
dreams: I want to be a painter, so I'm going to leave you now: Follow my dream.
But you never paint.
Eye watch plagues consume filth. Eye watch everything fall apart. Eye watch neutered fears yap like so many little dogs at the feet of Tragedy. Tragic Life. Tragic Love. Tragic lost to some capitalist pig.
Worst case scenario: Someone will die. "Wait--is that a threat?" How many teenagers say "in retrospect"? How many teenagers overthing things past Over-Thought? How many teenagers think?
What if we're all still in some fetal state, drifting, dreaming of what its like to be Real. And everyone that has a nightmare self-aborts themself out of Fear. To save themself. Everything is just another element of another mind. Nothing really exists. We're all one consciousness seeking answers to questions never asked.
I know how to exorcise my mind.
Rusted razors silently contemplate. Another cornflake mourning:
Fruits and Nuts.