a rythmic thump
a pulse
the common sounds become louder
my sight turns introverted
eyeballs inside out
muscles ache to twitch
everything leaks of sarcasm
crawls with cynicism
pounding
it won't come alive
senses dying
close my eyes
white desert(ed) hills
disgustingly bloated
feels like fake sand
grainy under my fingernails
open eyes, still inside out
. . . just say something, make it, hear it
. . . complete that narcissistic circle
. . . and come back to life