Another week crawls by
seven days depleted in a daze
eyes travel with the speed that a dead fly flies
unchanging for months and un-phased by this phase

Impatient fingers finger the decayed couch.
Transfixed in space, time unhinged by the joint
beyond the mist, you’d face a vacant face
and a disheveled slouch
a musty smell that no nose knows
but his.

All avenues of hope exhausted, it would seem
but a small part knew new ones would present.
Presently, relief had to be sought
but a punching bag was nowhere in sight
perhaps a block of wood would work?
It was guessed that that would wound.
But the voice of reason was not one he could hear here.

Of small victories
he has won one,
an illusion of sorts
the very positive kind:
effortless in nature, for the fortunate ones
who aren’t blind from having their minds mined
of all thought by the bleating masses.
It was to be the greatest escape one would ever find.

But my locks are massive, and I left the keys behind.
Alas, my trick was all over, before it begun.
And the crowd had long left, demanding refunds.

The man on the couch now shifted his glazed gaze.
And the tiniest smile was said to be seen
as the victory counter turned from one to two,
too late to do any good
but just in time to see
that he had one last trick up his sleeve.

“A new way to get out, I’ve found it at last!”
Were the last heard words of the man on the couch.
So there he hung, ceaselessly misplaced within eternity.