Once I have gone
the ghosts of your discontent will devour the landscape entirely.
As an imitation of the genuine, the world will unfold as a stage that you have set for yourself, and yourself alone.
As eating in isolation has the effect of being eaten
this over-acted tragedy with no chorus and no audience.
Playing the victim, like a performance where all parties are playing the victim
Pantomime Rendering the mask of your own lies,
confronting the masks of yourself.
You will break, because you are soft.
crumble in the moment,
realistically never reaching the moment at all
lacking in the capacity to do so.
Knowing this grants me no solace,
Sharing in some derogatory atonement.
to be released of this charade
where sirens wail in the distance
the low rumble of the streets
putting the proletariat to sleep in mechanical whispers