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
And 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.