11:55pm, nocturnal access to a slice of cake.
teeters of blue wrappers like i wanted to shatter.
drowsy, the tip of the knife is a cookie cutter murderer.
i hear a nursery rhyme of jack and jill, cliché of this and that.
they start to install antennas on my head.
i have a brain, a satellite.
to fake when i cannot show myself,
i hide inside the attic of an attic.
freedom is myself, this is relief.