There's been no chaos. All is still. No movement on the pane. Just dust on the sill.
Too quiet for the liking. Too safe to live. He died by suicide while having 50 more years to kill.
Walking the earth behind walls, feeling nothing. Plexiglass soul stops the heart from erupting.
Denial. Excuses. Disrupting the muses. There's no light coming in, means there's no light going out.
More denial, as fading beacons flicker about.
The pilot's off. The window's sealed. The routine is laden throughout barren fields.
No episodes, so close to a sigh. Safe guarded emotions, just rerunning through blank eyes.
No need for disguise when you're living inside.
The bullets all missed. but so were the memories. everything going by as the clock moves steadily.
Hands heavily passing the face. Is there anybody home? is it worth it to be safe?
Time is still ticking, there's no bomb in the chest. Just a treasure neglected with plenty of beats left.
Flip the switch.
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