Under the carpet corner it is
small and dark this perfect
pyramid of dust that rises soft yet
sharp as any diamond.  It is a
trap for time, a symmetrical seal to
silence th'incessant scour and
rage of ragged thought.  Its spike
cuts the invisible clarity of the
even run.

And my surrounders will always be
weary and outwith my range - they
know what is there but find my corners
strange, so never ask.  Then

yesterday, shockingly, she took a pick,
surprise-prised the fixed yet oddly
wooly surface - and split the symmetry
wide -

beaming-in a wholesome yet
unwelcome slant of unsuspecting light.
She placed my pyramid under
casual observation, unlacing the dust
to such effect that is speckled and
spun until time was wrecked

and pain was alone, sucked into silence
again by the strength of the seal. And it
said, as it shut, that

once the pyramid was perfectly borne
only the suffocation is real.
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