November 3, 2011

How to fit in:

Often I imagine my death
Selfishly
the automobile blindsides
cinematically
an almost artful collision
glass sprays into the air
as I sway and stop
Violently.
My gaze pans upward
the grey vaulted ceiling of my
attic room
unchanged.
One light in the corner
casting a long shadow
over Everything.

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