we awoke one morning to find

we had become unreliable narrators of our own lives

​

our homes once familiar to us 

became ghost palaces 

​

fruit ate itself

doors opened then closed in empty rooms

curtains brushed across guitar strings on windless days

flowers blushed

​

our lives were gaslighting us 

​

still we arose

bathed dressed ate

sunlight greeted us

guided us to work

screens needed viewing

communication remained electronic

 

but the foundation had changed 

was changing

​

were we entering a new dark age?

​