Corrupt this place, the ceiling burns phosphoric and you glare into the spaces that dampen the air.
“I’ll be back another time, maybe I can view the hash marks in pastel”
We can fantasize that we’ll never return to the chaos, so inviting to pick up where we left off.
You know this changes everything.
I escape my own reality and the wind outside brushes the sun off my cheeks- the powder of my forehead no longer a torrent of reflecting skies…. and rampant mistakes.
Everyone knows me here, and that can’t be so bad, right??
We deserved so much more.
I saw them take you on the elevator to the third floor, where people communicate in mimes and fixed glances, trolling the corners and cleaving the walls. Fearful that you’ll be spit out into the world, the depth of all your misfortune taking hold of that last piece of serenity.