they say when you see 11:11 you are exactly where you are supposed to be

it is a sign you are going the right way

everyday i catch it at least once and where i am is not where i need to be

listen to me, i am not supposed to be here, this is not the place for me

how can this be the right place for anyone, you all see what it is like here, you hear the voices, you hear them, right

the never ending wails of the disenfranchised, automatons, incapable and numb, the haunting chorus of the dead end that is suddenly everything and the only palpable flavor on this snow cone

shaved ice and genitals, a craving, an impossible miniature gargantuan horde, swarming and seizing all

11:11

listening to converge

shutting down the non essential functions, fuck murder destroy protocol enabled

duress, durex, trojan horses and needle holes in the prophylactic

antibiotic ointments and granules of synthetic biological deterrents

detergents, cleanse the epitome of this quark influenced psychosis

prone, paralyzed and pleading

needs more salt

how did we get here, i swore not to write today, to let the words fall silent of their own accord

exactly where i am supposed to be

on and on it goes, where it stops no one noticed

like a parasitic fish cleaning the teeth of a shark, a bird on a rhino head pecking the insects

living large on someone else’s accomplishments

a tick, an ingrown hair, a pus filled nodule on the glands of something more, amazing, pure light

been pursuing this circular line of logic for far too long, 11:11, exactly where it is supposed to be, a perfect circle can only be produced in nature

i am the rhombus, the tetrahedron, a nonogon, refracted through a prism of quartz and projected on the tail of a comet

exactly where i need to be and lost like a babe in the woods

internal compass set to true northsouth by eastwest, spinning lazily and always finding 11:11

the wildlife freezes in place as my vision finds black and white

freshly anointed with oils and perfumes, shaven and cleansed, wrapped in white linen and set lightly into the sarcophagus

exactly where we are supposed to be

but where is that exactly, exacting a steady cost, cutting holes in the fabric of reality, realizing it is really holes in the wholesome fluff that makes up us

11:11

i just want to go home