Breaking through, breaking out.
Boxes, covers, labels.
Phonetically organized chaos.
Insane society.
A pencil…
Could it overcome a drone?
Could it draw rainbows above the cursed villages?
Could it draw auras above the heads of the innocent?
But there’s no need. The rainbows and the auras are
already there.
It’s just that this collective consciousness chose not
to perceive them.
And yet, something tells me to stick to it.
To fix it.
To heal it.
But first, it must become aware of its illness.
How can you tell a madman he’s mad?
