Openly Moving Drama

tell me, you say Camus is a memory to you I think it's strange the way he gets me too I found this lately on the bus ride where well suddenly it just seems like noplace as every part of the past uprooted into this new day, I am wandering through this ancient military disaster looking through piles of wreckage, when they ask, folding chairs into trucks on some journey to awakening. the world is like a doll to me, smiling in the window overtaking history with her little shoes what situations are these, tailored like some foolish plastic dream of disorder and tantrums I stood cold staring at the chaos drilling out my lines, finding them like, twist only, or push to open