I pressed my ear against your chest
and felt the earth shake beneath me.
The ringing I can hear, crawling behind the mirror,
takes pictures like they’re pills; unceasing.
A king; disappearing
to lust or dust or pawn.
Poised and rearing; chasing his tail
as the crowd stands there
cheering him on.
He hears a voice behind the wall
turning cobwebs into rock.
It says he lost the key.
It says she broke the lock.
The painted snow; a moonlight red.
A forge of life there-in.
The buzzing glow is just a show
for stumbling whispers on the wind.
It’s here on the edge, we sink or swim,
watching water on the rise.
Each pseudonym contained within
only serves to advertise
a life of pixel people
pacing hallways in disguise.
They feed the thief a stamped motif;
a smile for prying eyes.