Breadcrumb #277


Your words are funhouse mirrors.
They twist and warp,
presenting distortions back at me.
I’m not sure whether to laugh
or scream.

Outside our carnival tent,
sun dries dropped sodas
and hot dog buns.
Small birds peck crumbs
and seem happy.

Inside, darkness swallows
our maze of glass
like a python constricting.
Shatter, serpent!
Cut yourself to pieces.

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