Float On

Can anyone tell which door we used to get into this room, cause
I can’t seem to recall and the walls appear polished seamlessly
to a high sheen, the floor and ceiling incomprehensibly far away?

I can’t imagine we fell from a great height and survived, nor
that we jumped on our own into this ballroom. The question
may seem esoteric, but I’d like to find the exit, in case

I need to head outside for a smoke or if I’m done, simply,
with this party. I’m not being antisocial, the food here is more
than passable, company of the highest order, the guest speakers

fascinating. It’s just I might like to sit quietly without all this laughing,
all these false approvals of achievement, filth diminishing
as the machines keep shrinking, smiles spread across faces

while the bombs keep falling.



A day is not done, until it's filled with words.

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