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Brandon Conway Oct 2018
The quill's sodden ink evaporates
while this bell jar encapsulates
leaving these dreary words to permeate
only to rain back down and stagnate

this terrarium, my lonely estate
pickling eyes that spate
people peer through the glass only to deprecate
while I slowly start to acclimate

two horizons squint until light dissipates
allowing the darkness to overtake
monsters crawl out to dilapidate
snarls and growls devastate

this is fate this is fate this is fate this is fate
is it too late is it too late is it too late is it too late
echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate echos verberate
this is fate and it is too late these echos verberate and I ruminate
I ruminate and ruminate and ruminate and ruminate

with a languid gait
a countenance set straight
while I desperately try to create
a happy blissful sunny green free state

it's not too late it's not too late it's not too late
meditate meditate meditate meditate
don't let the glass alienate
pick up the hammer and swing
                                                       till the glass B    E      K
                                                ­                                R    A      S.
Jack Torrance Jan 2020
I wake up every morning,
and I just ignore the sounds,
of the absent ******* echos,
of a mind that’s gone to ground.
The motions are insanity,
that repeat and verberate,
beating voices through my head,
like ragged nails across a slate.
It used to drive me crazy,
now it’s simply just routine,
watching ghosts around me,
as they move through my daily scene.
There you’re making coffee,
and a laugh just filled the hall,
there you’re singing softly,
hanging pictures on the wall.
Then my mind shifts left,
into what I think is true,
but maybe I should lose myself,
and try to interact with you.
I know that’d make me crazy,
but let’s face it I am there.
I’m ignoring what I see,
but perhaps that isn’t fair.
Reality’s a concept,
and I don’t care if it’s not real.
I’d rather love the ghost of you,
than live a life that I can’t feel.
So tomorrow when I see you,
maybe you’ll smile for me,
and we can finally be happy,
at the cost of my sanity.

— The End —