talking to ghosts
in a hotel elevator
then hiding,
a riddle recorded
on security footage.
the meds don't seem
to help
the emotional swings.
im possessed by
executed serial killers.
the thoughts
blurring my vision.
exposing my brain
to the breeze belt
culling lullabies above
the penthouse floor
as red centipedes slither
through my ears.
so
i
disappear
into
a water tank
on the roof
and decompose
until the guests
complain
about the rancid smells
and black liquid
dripping from the taps.
then im found
asleep
under a twenty pound
green metal lid,
naked,
with my saturated clothes
cemented to the bottom.
the bulls suspect foul play
but the lack of evidence
means the conclusion
is checked off as
accidental
in a white little box.
yeah it sucks,
but i mean,
i still
post on tumblr
sometimes,
even without
a heartbeat or
a phone,
and
finally,
after 21 years,
everything's okay
because tomorrow
i wont have to worry
where ill spend the night..
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