Picking up the trash that lay

Within the inner wasteland

That resembles the same desert

Of the Real

Filled with simulacra

The half-assed simulation of actually picking up the trash

Repeats

Over

and

Over.

Until I looked at an internal clock

and watched it melt.

The residue stained the jagged peaks

The summit over which the clock hovered

Cried “Insanity”.

After continually shrieking,

The high pitched noise resonated within my head

and bounced back and forth off the walls within my skull.

Until I dropped my makeshift pitchfork used for picking up

Simulacra in the form of trash.

Then I killed myself

Temporarily.

Just long enough to surface

within the present moment in live.

Only to revisit my tomb.

Over

And

Over.