Something is happening, something is going on behind my back, creeping and crawling through the crack. I can see it in the corner of my eye. I think that we’re about to die.
Somebody wants to strike us down. One by one, as we stand in line like expectant clowns, protecting each others backs, hoping that the more the sticks in the bundle, the less likely that we are to crack.
I feel sorry for the poor sob leading us, great as can be but still unable to save us.
Thus is the way of the world, to shave you bare and leave you bald. After the cards were dealt, you may have felt, it was the only way, though I have to say, I’m disappointed. I thought you were anointed. Gracefully appointed. Yet here we are together, our joints about to be disjointed.
Another premonition, I must reach a decision. To stay mum and numb or not to succumb.