Shane Ward- Age: 19

30 March 2008

Derailed

You're not there.

You've opened Pandora's box:

A lucrative market of erasure and depletion.

And still,

among frozen nights and distant shores,

there is reminiscing of the telescopic times,

and watching you without gun sight.

Without this scope and without tension.

And sometimes upon the epitaph of the gravestone of the Graveyard shift lies the read of howling cries

and a sequestered self.

All are running out of time.

Time always is on time.

Regardless,

this furlough of lasting time leaves no impression on those who don't feel sorry for you.

To encroach all with your sneaky plans.

These are forbidden lands you've tread slime upon.

You've left all no choice but to succumb into mass interrogation without interrogating.

You have been deemed "subhuman dirt mound."

Now you're aloft in this sauna of demise and despair.

This ectoplasm used during this Séance will only quietly harm you more.

Inept of what you've done.

Battered by your own self will.

You've left your post,

stationary no longer.

... And yet I still wear this plastic smile of debauchery and say "hi."