In the place within the place, machinery punctuates the cimmerian countenance of commodious fog.

Crawling, head cast downwards in paltry space, liquid seeping from crimson pores, coincidental direction finds the crack in the wall.

An intricate landscape lies beyond the place; cheerless and cruel, engulfed in sorrow and reverence, still the violation of machinery.

Yet the country is permeated, discarded clumps of hair and teeth a consequence of carriage to the calculated direction of the subsequent crack,  buoyancy’s emblem.

The country is permeated, nails and eyelids peeling from their candidates.

In captivity’s embrace, outside the place within the place, the charlatan and the conqueror are punctuated by consummate machinery, and cover their eyes with what remains of their hands.


About Anna

Author of the Insanity Aquarium. Current fears include time as a concept, the squishiness of my right eyeball, and not being able to open this jar.
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