i believed the fake happiness
and with it the virtue of good.
the tea parties of gentlemen and ladies
scattered across crisp lawns of watery lettuce,
cameras flashing orange on posed
photographs rotting away in basement
shoebox dioramas in which i played charades,
fresh linens pressed and starched
and lemon-scented acid ate upon my soul.
while they said you cannot trust instinct
for it is of the animals
if not animals, then what are we?
gods ruling our virtual reality
trusting only in the brainwashed truth of society.
my palace of cheshire smiles
grins toothless at the unaware
solitaire cards abandoned as i flee.