375 – Mirrors

A single point of entry.

A small caliber bullet
Leaves just a tiny hole,
Then bounces around your innards
Like a pinball
Until they turn to bloody jelly.

The right word
Turns your mind into a blender
Until not a single thought
Stays standing.

The shredded remains of common reality
Die messily on the sidewalk
While the skinned face of your sanity
Keeps smiling
As it steps into the wood chipper.

But why worry?

Even when
“This is not an exit”
Is written on the only open door,
We still have our cheap drugs,
Boisterous leaders,
And express spirituality
To save us.

Everything is going to be ok.


One day…

It isn’t.

• • •

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