America

Do I exist?

Am I real?

Or am I a design of your psychopathic mind.

What makes me think this way is that your scenery flickers like some broken screen.

Your background cracks and bleeds at your fingertips.

Constant deja vu provides me with subconscious images of atomic paintings that harness unrealistic events, your acts of hidden atrocities, fake planes, crumbling towers, smoke billowing from your bizarre brain moves like silk, caressing every part of me, holding me in a trance.

The lies though, have become muffled by the screams that break through your veil and bring to question how you manipulate and hold our reality.

It seems to me that a tether has started to fray.

Please allow me now to dissolve into the unknown like the codeine in my blood, my fake DNA has been exposed and this world has become cold.

I'm tired and I want to wake up.