Let me show you what isolation does to you
Let me show you
The indoors of this twisted mindhole
For I have dabbled in another route
And there are fresh developments
Why do we fight?
These tasks are mundane enough
To be inefficient at redirecting attention
Away from the morbid
Inevitably then
I stand here craving that from which I was personally prohibited
But do they not credit well enough
That work is that which makes free?
Isolation encroaches and knocks on the door
The only way out is the only dead end
There are a number of bodies
Fewer yet souls
And no kindred flames
What is touch anyway?
Perhaps the eternal horizon
Which you hardly are nearing
As you run toward it
Yet there is a sense
Of liberation
To the careful packaging of cardboard boxes
Yet there is a sense
Of pride
To the diligent gathering of fertilizers and fans
'Tis an escape done right
