Puzzleboom

You are how much there is wrong with the world

Turned the late hours of dusk into small hours of april the 1st

I couldn’t feel it

Half asleep on the edge of my bed

Dropped my book with a nearly sleeping hand

I looked at you through the window

I saw a gouged out sheath who stared at me

Directionless white noise

If I spoke would it echo

A reverb of no choice

The colour of your eyes said you’d rather be anywhere but here

All of a sudden the floor rose up at an enormous speed