Something is broken,

and we can feel it,

as sure as we can feel

every pin and needle in our

heads that are in and out of

consciousness.

 

It's there,

trust me,

it's there,

even if there

doesn't really exist,

it's more of a subjective place,

a GPS could never take you to.

 

Now then,

it's a big place,

with hidden chambers,

and everything is fucked up.

 

It sounds like the real world,

doesn't it?

 

Except "there" is where every

failure of moral judgement,

shattered dream and lost hope,

god-awful screw up that made you

wish you were fucking dead

has escaped to.

 

Those things live "there,"

even when you aren't around,

too bust strolling in the corridors

of life,

where thingss are safe,

and nothing is out to hurt you

in any way that matters.

 

The physical is nothing,

weak, soft, pathetic,

like a fluffy bunny,

no claws at all,

wait til the hounds of 

"there," or hell,

or Baskerville,

or whatever you want to call it,

come calling.

 

You are weak,

soft,

and pathetic,

stuck here,

while everything

important is happening

there.

 

So why am I here,

writing these words?

 

Weak,

soft,

and pathetic.