Looking down the corridor I see a
door that's being held open for a
man who wears two eye patches, a
frown seen somehow in the dark
outline of his silhouette-

I don't get how he's doing that, what? huh?

Tearing through the crowd of men looking down
I see a dent in the ground and I
narrowly step to avoid the
hollow tile, my eyes widen
I realize that he's gone-

Why was this man walking blind so strangely?

Then I see, everyone has left this place
I pace looking for a space to see
just how everyone has left me, I
can't fathom what magic, where,
where does this corridor lead?

The door reads: "To my friends I left behind."

How asinine.

I might secretly be a snake

it feels as if I'm wearing my own skin as a mask

it is no longer my own

and no one wants to buy a used skin...

I wish a snake would tell me how to shed it.

but if I do, will I still be a person? will I still be the same?

I...

I suppose i'll... keep wearing the full body mask, and try to remember the mannerisms of me, so no one gets suspicious.

it's working so far.

but I think that's because the humans around me aren't looking for the right things, if at all...

I'd like to meet other snakes.

if I peel back the skin on your face,
will I see a television screen
tuned to a channel that recently went down?

the tone of colorful bars and absent cables fills your head.

does my voice blend in with the noise, love?
i miss the times when I can tell you're listening to my nonsense.

it's nonsense baked special for you.

She wore a straitjacket.
It was a tight fit.
Writhing around, she begged for a knife, begged anyone who passed her by.
No one seemed to have more than one glance to throw her way.

This screaming, terrified woman, stumbling through streets and patches of grass,

She yelled for someone to free her. But the most intense emotion she's seen as of late was fear, and fear was an ugly color. She couldn't help but reflect it back.

She found her situation... tragic.

But, one day, someone finally tries to help her.

Taking a knife, this kind stranger begins to cut into this restraint she's found herself in.

And, instead of looking relieved, this woman screams louder, and runs away on broken feet. She runs away as fast as her starving legs could take her.

Because this straitjacket was made of skin.

The pain of metal in her flesh restraint, was unbearable.

Maybe once she's aware of the cycle, she'll push through the pain, to see her arms again...

Doubtful.

yeah, we spill word ***** on here sometimes

i pour myself a large bowl of pure, unadulterated life

and I microwave it down to its essentials

personally, it tastes like melting plastic and rubbery massages

that's not a very pleasant taste, so one must throw it up somewhere...

but in a way, the ***** people share can be quite lovely to look at, don't you think?

I like it, at least.

It's strange how everyone knows how to imitate a ghost
Strange how you never knew you could disappear, start anew
Away from someone you hated or someone you found in...

Distaste.
Disappear like that, skin faded, teeth clattered to the ground,
Feeling anything, everything but flattered by the sound.
Please, watch how your friends abandon you
because you're too loud

Mistake.
Is what you're called, silence by choice- you don't deserve a voice
It's what you learned. You're my friend, now. It's your turn, try me out-
I'm the only friend you'll ever need. Your first defense, yes

Don't protest.
Because it's really, really strange, my best friend, strange how you
Never learned how to imitate a ghost.

hindsight
is the ******* teacher
who tells you what you could have done to get an A
when you've already turned in your D level assignment.

have i learned anything?
we'll see.