The globe
Has turned into a tangerine
There are pins in it
And peels scattered from it
All around it
Exuding a bit of tangy happiness
It may rot
But still smells good.
Need to cook
Call the cops
The fridge got cleaned
Every now and then
It needs empty to be
Purging the society away
On scales they step
To count down the calories
How many calories does a soul need?
Barely fading away
The exes were a bit older
yet the Zs were a bit too young
Falling into my element
Of inconsistent serenity
Weeping through a corridor
Towards the depth of the ocean
Is the ocean made of plastic?
Unfolding some type of wounded winds
Gasping for air
Getting the incarnation of a lung
Does the air consist of a toxic whatever ?
Looking downwards
There used to be forests
Well created by the Upper Power
Now there are mutations
Delivered in laboratories
Mere simulations of plants
Mostly indoors
_The horizon of the outdoors
Has gone to
The supermarket
_It shall never be back.
1 + (5 x 7) +4
– Χριστίνα Εικοσιπεντάρχου
