Half of my mind
is my mind
and of that half,
half is working.
The other, takes information.
Birthdays, holidays, complaints,
Death.
Death?
I am no stranger to death,
for death is the other half of my mind,
the only half
that isnt mine.
And of the other half
of my mind, that is taken up by death
half is taken by my great-gramdma
the other half, taken by my old cat
Why?
because only half of my mind
is my mind.
This other one is called "cake:the lie"
There is a room with a cake
surrounded by spheres
they start to glow as i watch the candle
on the cake burn,
sinking its wax
deep into the cake.
BUT WAIT!
I thought the cake,
so praised and foretold,
was just a children's story.
A fable, if you must.
The cake is a lie!
And yet I stand here.
An arm sinks down
from the depth of the ceiling;
from a hatch.
It extinguishes the candle
in front of my eyes.
Now the only light is from the spheres
There is a room with a cake
surrounded by spheres
they start to glow as i watch the candle
on the cake burn,
sinking its wax
deep into the cake.
BUT WAIT!
I thought the cake,
so praised and foretold,
was just a children's story.
A fable, if you must.
The cake is a lie!
And yet I stand here.
An arm sinks down
from the depth of the ceiling;
from a hatch.
It extinguishes the candle
in front of my eyes.
Now the only light is from the spheres
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