Augmentation of the overhead lights.

Let the sweat flow

while stood in a crowded state of alone.

An empty room be the coliseum for clashing motives.

Act or reckon with it;

act or hesitate in the street.

The self encased in overhanging lamps,

domineering in their limitless eyesight,

the mind obtuse when consigned to view abuse around every bend.

Strangers do not pass these days;

they linger in each step.

They see ambulance sirens in papercuts,

a push away from clicking away at decomposition,

prepared for the public’s ridicule.

Slink through the alleys but shadows are but temporary,

a comfort disintegrated in circadian woes.

Forced to play fact or fiction in every interaction.

Flipping coins to guess where best to place trust,

but every result hits with the head landing six feet down.

Please shut off the sun.

I know someone’s arching them.

Turn down the bright, wide diatribe.

I hear it in its unspoken tongues,

reading disapproval against approval,

where libel’s dripping in syllables,

Trickling down the artifice until rotted away do I stay,

a skeleton for everyone to tuck into the crevices.

Keep the door closed and locked tight.

My eyes have grown sore of the unwavering light.


❤ Mitch

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