Breakfast At Epiphanies
Had an epiphany this morning and yet, the screeching and scratching of the voices is always at hand.
The only thing I can trust this day and age is the walls talking to me. Ceremoniously, I want my consciousness to die.
Alas, it lies wake and unfolds the lashes concocted. From the whips of a tormented psyche.
I was alive and well this morning. The clicking of a stopwatch is the split frames of time that rip apart my wretched soul.
Part ways with the thought of living the days without the switch. Up, down, left, right. Goodnight.
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