Beside Reality

"Was that a setup?" she wrote? It's alive inside her tomb. Against the grey, I fall and hit my head. A chemical coma makes this all seem pretend. I'm surrounded by orange caps and dirty spoons; dancing and shouting about in the room. Arguing my fate and what shall be my epitaph. I eat the weak, count my fears, I do the math. Low lights, the sounds reflect my mood; laying in a tulip bed where the demons have become my friend.