Cabinets, Drawers, Mirrors, Space
Circling, spinning ‘round this place
Ashtrays, Movements, Pillars, Sand
Form the base of this foreign land
Canisters full of empty butts
Barking wildly, fiendish mutts
While bees and potatoes seem oddly paired
It all fits fine when you stop and stare
The army of trees such a sight to see
Wondering how can this possibly be
Your turn
My turn
Endless game, with no fame
No money, no fortune, no wealth
Hidden somewhere with cunning stealth
Blood stained curtains dripping brains
Discharged weapon this is insane
A flame engulfs as a character travels
Hunted, sought, as the story unravels
Without an end this masterpiece
All other works should cease
Until she finds her certain fate
Until she reaches that date
Until then,
Again,
Your turn
My turn…
The end
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