So I'm going to follow the trend and post my angsty teenage poetry. xD
Prepare to be confused.
Deeply.
(I'm not even sure what they all really mean myself)
Tour of the back of your head
Well, sit down; make yourself welcome.
You haven’t been here in a while.
This is my squat while I’m the job; I know, it’s a right fairytale palace--
dirty clothes strewn over all the broken mirrors, spare and broken and faded;
--more like a junkyard, actually. But then again, what'd you expect?
You’ve neglected it for quite some time.
Oh, as you stroll down the corridor, you might have forgotten a face or two from the portraits in the halls
…don’t worry, though, it happens to everyone.
Bathroom? Oh yeah, down the hallway on your left.
(Warning: the cleaning maintenance has gotten pretty lazy.)
The sink chokes and sputters before the water at last breaks through.
Discolored reflections split in the water as they fall from the faucet in strangely uneven proportions, leaking painfully, staining streaks down the sides of the sink
before they finally disappear and become completely unidentifiable.
They seem to smile at you as they pass down.
(Don't worry about it, they probably forgot you just as easily.)
--You ready to go now? Awesome.
You arrive at the main feature; your old bedroom.
…Oh, it's my bed frame, you supply weakly.
(but cracks lead in a hundred paths. It’s rotted in a myriad of places you didn’t even notice before, places you didn’t even realize existed.
Your old face glimpses in and out from the holes of what’s left of the wall, a tired hungry phantom weaving in and out through the last wisps of its days.)
Don’t be a stranger! Say hello! Ooh, doesn’t look like it’s too happy to see you. Uh…
What's that? Oh, that—that’s a dream machine. Gives you toxic cancer, you know, you can’t breathe for days;
--You wanna try? You sure? (You crazy? What drugs did you take while you were gone anyway?)
…Well, alright then, if you're sure. Close your eyes. Breathe.
Slowly, you sink down through the floor…
Through a slot of a telescope, you observe the keyboard-smash of heart against ribcage.
A helpless struggle, like sand out of an hourglass,
Striking beautiful notes on the piano keys --made of real human bone, you know.
Consistent, efficient bruises. Runs 24/7.
(It's slower than you remember? Well, it’s not like it's a machine...)
Through a second slot, a face turns towards you.
Its sad twisted contours suddenly form a flower gasping for air;
inspiring strangers to back away, its emaciated head pokes through the bars;
Suddenly it’s a Jack-in-the-Box.
Poor, crying, out-of-tune…All the notes already choked out of his throat from prior screaming.
You can see the poor life he’s led; his make-up has lost its stark scare.
His spring sinks back down into the earth, sunken and soggy,
then suddenly flails about wildly, carving incomprehensible words into the terrace
desperately, as though trying to send you a message before you leave.
Abruptly melting mirrors cascade down the walls around him like syrup…
--Hey, wanna try another slot?
No? You’ve seen enough?
Wanna go back? Sure. (Told you. Wuss.)
When you awake, you’re curled up on your bed with your arms around your knees;
a pose you haven’t been in since you were a kid.
The grinning dumbass from the maintenance crew stares at you expectantly, still grinning, hands extended.
You blink. And then impatiently drop a handful of coins into his waiting hand. As he walks happily away, whistling some obscene tune from the ‘90s, you roll your eyes and turn back and suddenly find yourself staring at your old walls, like they suddenly walked into the room.
For some reason you can't tear your eyes away; when you finally do,
you notice there’s a piece of paper on your bed in front of you, faded and slightly wrinkled.
‘YOU ARE HERE’
is written in the center of a large box drawn with black marker.
You blink. The rest of the page is blank. You start turning it over, looking for any extra marks. There’s nothing else.
For some reason this causes you to break into a cold sweat.
The walls start collapsing around you. But some reason you find you don’t care. You want to sit here on this bed and never move, hugging your teddy bear as it takes it down with you. The maintenance crew starts to shout.
Your eyes slowly start to drift shut…
Melting mirrors cascade down along with the walls around you like syrup…
…Right before your consciousness completely blurs, you think you see a face drifting out the window…
When they find the scene, the only thing they find intact amongst the rubble and melted silver is, oddly enough, a piece of paper, strangely pristine, untouched, as though marked by the hand of some god.
However, when they pick it up, there’s nothing on it. The surface is completely blank.
