“The past is written in bleach we trace with ink.” Trace:
An awakening at his bedside
wobbled like a fawn; Standing,
evenings at the mental ward were one dimensional, an ant crawling across a headline: NONEXISTENCE WON THE WAR.
Purgatorial mist is the new “reality”. Cosmological engineers say initiating a second Big Bang may be futile since the nature of atoms are as unpredictable as oneself. Simply willing a reboot is not enough.
The ant couldn’t read but since it occupied the in-betweenness of the lines, the ant understood their wordless meaning, albeit too massive to articulate to itself, but knew a change needed to happen.
An existential generator, fueled by intuition and other chemicals, is currently powering a spec of chaos. ‘Chaos is better than nothingness said the cosmological chairman in a brief statement. Evidently, the idea is to bring order to chaos, however small, with intensive care, but the problem is… The rest ended at extraterrestrial wording.
The text glowed with enigmas blinding the ant,
scared away to a primitives understanding:
It must be a new ant, crawling to something seemingly unrelated: