Characters

Littering the walls of my hall,

you can watch the hallway twist with doors opening and closing.

Like each step is a quick walk to a far descent until you realize the floor is sliding beneath you.

We're sliding down the corridor, information on buzz, whizzing past.

Characters turn roman, some romaji until twisting entirely into another language entirely.

You can glimpse the music, the twist of a dancer, and in one second... We almost meet eyes, before you slide by.

Never enough time to stick around.

We're skirting on by.

Grabbing the frame of a doorway, you manage to catch yourself on an empty kitchen entryway where the fruit is all plastic and your stomach is just for show.

We're here to enjoy the bright colors and paint the scenery,

but the food isn't for eating. The water faucets are all fake.

Because eating is for those who are starving,

but I have no hunger in a place where my body likes to jumble up health with an empty stomach.

Should we eat? Should we eat?

Can we?

Turn your head. Ever so sharp, and you'll run out into the hall, to find it tilting back the way you came. From the thousands of doors you've passed,

wondering what the shadow was and why it's in the back of my mind.

Wandering my halls like a sinister cackling human form with pearlescent white teeth.

Somewhere, a part of me that you cannot follow drags you back into the never-ending corridor.

I suppose we're in this Haunted House together.

Never quite settled on the rooms of many, but the doors between them are far and plenty. No place doesn't connect, and the reach is far because everything is a never ending travel between skills and hobbies. Honest work, grunt work, work work, and the work to hold my body together.

I suppose if you tried to leave, you'd find the windows sealed tight, where stagnant air can hardly get out, and doors tied shut, because I'm coughing out bits and pieces of myself, wondering how I'm still alive but trying to hold together.

Taped together with hopes and dreams, trudging on robotically, like the mechanics of my body never needs.

Feeding myself plastic food, on a yard made of dirt and leaves.

I suppose this is my plastic beach.

Welcome to my house of doors.

The place where the animatronic made of flesh pretends not to be human.