In a land-mass mural hung high over my
(Smaller, Statelier) existence -

One boy, permeated in a maple-flavored monotony - one boy, half-asleep in harlequin headaches and half-assed homework - one boy, munching on metaphorical muffins - one boy -

COUNTDOWN: 5 , 4 , 3 , 2 , 1
BREAKDOWN: B , E , N , N , Y
                        (Where am I?)

Between bridges burned with cigarette butts, within ***** all-night diners and pieced (or pierced) together by solemn, salt-encrusted shadows

(I could come to you, you could come to me)
(Petit a petit, l'oiseau fait son nid)

Track my tiny rabbit feet through location services and ten-second hints

(Instagram my dead body)