my body is too numbed to speak
to my desperately straining ear drums.
hollowed timpani ba-***-bums echo back ad-nausea.

I've found this magnifying glass is a mirror,
and you can only inspect your shadows in broad daylight.

my heart is full and my tongue spits spite,
biting eyes drink the blood of the blissfully ignorant
as I hand out gold medals to the reapers of the night.

can you smell the crisp air that swallows bonfires
rolling in from over the distant mountains?
the turning of seasons has played its magic trick again,
blooming in a cloud of smoke.

as the beginning fades, I slink into the familiar dance
of the incessant machine,
spinning hypnotic hallucinations.

I stack you upon piles of hay bales and whinny at easy lies,
stamp up dust in hopes of maintaining my belief in illusion,
thinly veiled and wearing rotten.

I don old metal shoes to retrace the path carved for me
before I learned to breathe and blink,
it feels like syncing into cracking expectations
and reciting lines of poetry I pretend to understand.

I am static running in all directions,
stagnant and unstable propulsion,
pinning paradoxical buttons to my lapel to scream my confusion
in silent revelation to the audience.