There’s nothing left to be found here, and it’s a particular barren wasteland that is ambivalence. Stuck in a loop, flip a card, flip a coin, reveal your fate. Shut away in a cabinet, kept away from recalcitrancy. We sit with squares and rectangles, pushing to further the corruption of our egos, forcing our minds into a state of greed and self-loathing, searching for a place to extract the last block. There’s nothing left to the scraps of the bones deserted by everlasting dissertation. Delegate your hatred into a vast cloud of nations, then tear it into the shreds that feed the foundations. The intermission to your dictatorship is but a speck that consumes truth. Anything could be true. Anything could be false. There is no black or white, but there is grey. So many different hues of grey. They said their evolution was law, but it indeed seems to be the lack of. It says it’s there, but it’s been long buried under debilitated memories and viscous whispers. Any signs that point to up or down have been tossed over the edge with the post-its. New elements must be developed to have a certain…echo. Eavesdropping is a wall with too many sides, and larkspur has dried upon the ladders. It’s time to move with the sparrows, but the mud has entrapped too many. Some just can’t hold their arsenic, referencing the window of opportunity. Early graves, all of you. Has-beens waiting to happen. It’s all falling. I suppose it’s time to start falling with it.
I wrote this >:3 Also, if you have the time, look up Frances Glessner Lee and her nutshell studies.
