churning out images of
the world in damage control.
the sky was raining planes, and
the monsters had shown their faces:
their boots of evil
trampling upon eternity’s certainty.
and from the dust and rubble,
paper was the only escapee-
forever haunted by ten thousand screams
etched upon its fibres.
this doesn’t happen-
not in the world that I know.
this is reality T.V at its most real.