Stepping on glass—shards
Scattered across—a minefield
Underfoot—Times Square—

Wasps nest in—your ears
As muskets—and cannons boom—
Fire alarms—shrieking—

Your corse—a statue—
Stone cold and solid—and yet

Need to—grasp something—
A pen—a railing—a hand—
I’m—drowning—in air—

Crumple on the floor—
Waiting—for the world to end—
But—it keeps going—

No need to—prepare—
You already survived it—
The apocalypse—

This broken record—
Keeps playing—the same—death march—
Until—you lie—down.