The walls peel faster
than their pet's enveloped mind.
A kaleidoscope of curls and regression
'till drip, drip;
rain leaks through eyebars.
Minute forces carve
fearsome faces into
long-lost landscapes in
infrequent fits of sanity.
Mining the mind's minefield
to shine, gleam, flicker
and roar.
Surface and ceiling reunited
as the walls close in on
their pet.
Counting beats to block out
counting thuds from
next door.
The Last Man writes his manifesto
in spare time
from the attic,
scribbling notes over the walls
to be misinterpreted
during deconstruction.
Hallucinogenic hope
drives him on to
the End of Days.
Fooling no-one,
feet pound as they run
far, so far.
The prospect of betterment
on the horizon
is nought but a mirage.
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