Separation’s End (revised)

This weathered leather chair

sits before me.

Its aged skin

screams mortality.

I exist in between

the syllables it rings

like

one, two, three

tolls of a bell

cracking the night’s silence.

climb the stairs of my throat

up my brain stem

into my brain,

my mind—

separated like chloroform

severing my consciousness.

I look upon the

screen that plays my thoughts

unraveling

geometric patterns

that will never connect:

a skeleton smashed,

its alabaster bones

lain strew—

this delusion of my social interactions.

 

A knife,

a blood streaked screen.

I commit suicide once in my mind,

then in reality:

impulses exploding,

spattering a deep red.

Behold my actions spawned

from my thoughts

encrypted

like the DNA of an alien

[pouring]

from the faucet

of my mind

into reality—distorted, cryptic patterns of my daily

social logs.

I feel like a puddle without a ripple,

frozen over,

cracked.

For now,

this weathered leather chair

so comfy as it envelops my aura with the same simplicity

as stars falling upon the night.

 

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