Nothing moves,
save the mould
and microscopic tentacles of decay
We sit and wait –
Watch the fabric of existence tear itself apart
All will crumble eventually,
the walls, the roof -
the sky fall in on us
Empty space, hard wood,
time splintering between the cracks of abandonment
No truth is real,
no lie unheard that has not
been spoken
Float off in motes of dust,
spread yourself far, atoms of disquiet
heading for the stars.
(c) Darren Hawbrook
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