Hide! Hide! Hide!
Hide and it will never find you.
Insidious.
Clouds of dank!
Spewed forth from cannons of laughter.
Proximity.
Joyless blank.
Bereft in the hallways of home.
Suffocated.
Numb to touch.
Adam never quite reaching God.
Null space between.
Thoughtlessness.
Rewired pathways to psychosis.
Fire the pistol.
And the cure?
Stab me! Stab me! Stab me again!
Weeping needles.
Let’s face it.
My blood has changed. It won’t go back.
Don’t turn around.
Oh, my! That’s quite angular indeed.
Very sad and desolate.
Perhaps accurate.
Methinks I shall counter it!
When I am able.
M
I look forward to your counter!