Film Room


Screen-lit stare scars my retinas.

Movie magic plays over and over

in my skull, just like the film reel.

My brain pops like

the buttery kernels at

the concession stand.

My feet stick to the floor

and my body sinks into the seat

like a home-made electric chair.

Engaged for two and a half hours

of slow mental breakdown

and brainwash.

Dim lights distort images,

creating hollowed beasts

of playful things.

This elongated room

seems endless,

like I can just break from my seat

and make a run for it into the film.

I smell moments of happiness

that rot and transform

into a slow stench.

The film ends and

I blink.

I exit.

Where have I been?


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