deepundergroundpoetry.com

A �e � s � t � h � e � t � i � c

Outside of our reality,
In a place with off and on gravity,
Standing on a bright purple floor, covered by a glowing, neon green, grid,
In a world as colorful as an art exhibit.
An orange sun, sets against a golden-pink sky,
Hearing ghostly souls, moaning, "why?"
Knowing not where they come from,
Until you realize, you're in the statue asylum,
Where the statues hallucinate people,
And realize the reality, horrible....
Greek busts, with eyes blindfolded or sanded smoothly away, and mouths taped with red tape,
Ghosts trying to escape,
Souls, trying to escape.
Broken off ears,
Oblivious to the years
That have passed since their creation,
Years of isolation.
In their minds, they hallucinate our reality,
Who knows how long we have, but they have immortality,
Imagining all of the universe,
But who knows for what purpose?