crickle

wild monotony

I live

in Sector 75 G

and pray

that you’ll remember me:

Long after the beams, rotted, fall from the walls.

And the walls always fall,

and the walls always fall…

I’ve had no pretty-penny thoughts

in 75 days; I have

been out in the maze

looking for

constructive ways to get out of this

glazed-over daze made

from chasing the Demons

left
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Dust mites seem right,

because they eat what the dead shed.

But they leave allergens/

cause allergic reactions;

biological toxins.

Tiny dusty arachnids…

I’m a distraction trying to function.

It’s not so simple.

My mind’s all disrupted from

always reacting.

Even in sleep, just within dreams:

always reacting.

A fucking reaction.

Hey,

have you ever wondered

where this ‘action’ we’re ‘re’ to

is, or was,
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Would you die for your cause?

There is no cause

for this: the

only

cause to die for

is living.

We, as a collective: so

serious-minded.

These trillion-ton thoughts that

lie

within

the individual, as well,

floor us.

But we speak in jokes/

anecdotes,

for fear of one another’s

ridiculously high disapproval-rates. I don’t want validation through

some occupation

or sensation on the map of
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