the sense of self lost in the dense foliage of shiny plastic trees an aluminium age plastic pressed tightly onto every petroleum based wet dream

this craven sense of self hiding among the fevered topical depressions of tropical regressions of passive aggressions of unsettled fears

demanding recompense for recollection agencies that never forgot to tax the simple act of simply trying to survive in an age of revival instincts

rub two sticks to make fire around the ring of roses that marks another cairn in a series of progressively larger funeral parlors and crematoriums

organ harvest dances at the recycling plant for former child stars filmed before a studio audience of their peers in sensory deprivation mausoleums

the stories are real but the facts have been rewritten into facsimiles to protect the ones that pull the marionette strings with abandon drawn in crayon

this sense of self lost in the shimmering beams of darkness projected astrally in the heart of another dying white dwarf gradually collapsing inwards