#derealization?

Hallways that fizzle out in rays of florescent dust. A grandmothers quilt sitting still. Stagnant.

It’s the end of the world but not quite. You see.

You are there.

You are insatiable. You are you.

And you disturb the space the angels are cleaning out. Will you leave? Are you going to?

The writing on the walls will tell you to but you’re no one man to listen to invisible ink. There is nothing wrong with these spaces. You play a continuous game of solitare with yourself dear friend.

Are you falling now? How fun! Mind if I come along? Join you.

You’ve fallen into a ball pit, but it feels like your sifiting through air as you make your way back to the ground. There is so much going on in the room. Clearly designed for a child but you for right in. Is there a mirror you can look in? A puddle of spilled juice that distorts your vision?

Do you even remember what you look like?

Do you remember your name?