I am living in a fragment of smooth, dense glass with sharp edges
Propped up by the lying memory of an ever-changing past
Guided by the silent, breathless whispers of my ears
I see by the light of the burned out bulb
The light hits, prismatically bounds
Total internal reflection
I walk across the room
I have always been walking. I’ve never started.
I reach the side and the bubble pops.
It’s Wednesday. How long has it been Wednesday?
It is warm here, and yet I shiver
It rises up and expands in an encompassing slice
The echoes magnify and magnify, sprouting blades and fangs
And then I am a fire, wreathed by a thousand crawling legs
It’s Wednesday. How long has it been Wednesday?
The light rushes through and the cracks shift
They are a million and I am a million
The bubble pops
It’s Wednesday. How long has it been Wednesday?
