Hi,
I've decided to coerce anyone who opens this thread to read this:
Daggers & Confusionism
The portrait spews characters that all look alike to me
with their delicate electronics and last year's monkey hat
Some break away to form their own herd, however,
the power of the portrait directs them back to their corners
The air inside the portrait is polluted.
Nowhere near good enough to huff and to heave
intangible hands chisel the dead lips of each character
faces nailed to phones talking to someone outside the frame
nobody exists outside the frame. The lines are dead.
I spewed this one night when I was depressed. Feel free to tell me I suck, otherwise I may not get depressed again.