Squint.
My gaze traces the aluminum falcon's trail;
I catch it blink me out of existence.
Breathe.
Rotting flesh lingers in the humid air.
The natives are accustomed,
But my lungs repulse it.
Silence.
The inmates file into their brick asylums--
Not required, but exiled forever if they don't.
Bite, Chew, Swallow.
Trays of fat steam in rows--
Replenishes inmates for daily duties.
Salt seasons but my soul.
Soak.
Loneliness bathes me as
The Simulation infects others.
I am Blind, Deaf, Numb
To the mildewed hospitality of their "home."
Shackled to the bubble of my Exile,
I work within the Devil's reign,
Floating, waiting
Till I reach the edge and
Burst.