Exhilaration, Exhumation
A Circular Kind of Insanity
Jul 7, 2021
Place me in the center of a storm
and I am most myself
My ribcage
primed to shatter—
to fill lungs, ever deeper
I am no golden calf
Within are corridors
endless corridors—
a-romantic, unlike a labyrinth
clinical and bleak—
you worship the manufactory