The god, the girl, the world—all going mad—
In moments ecstasy and others death—
The poison gas a suitor for her breath—
Drugs found in pockets she forgot she had—
These friends who are not friends, in dreams not dreams—
The scent of crowds, the taste of silent screams—
She cannot tell if they mean joy or fear
Or what the difference is, since we are here.
Wrenched as we are into cacophony
This circus of the living, from the peace
Of non-existence—or perhaps not peace—
Shall we assume? It’s past all memory.
If hell is here, perhaps hell’s also there.
The wall cracks further under my loud stare.