What freaking remote location did they send him to?
Spotting a television he fumbled through the nightstand for the remote.
“Where the hell am I? Where’s the remote”? He demanded kicking his roommates bed.
“Rehab, and it’s mine”.
A MESH OF PIXILLATED FLESH
she won the“Stevens-Johnson Syndrome” lottery.
Burned from inside out.
Running fingers over
a Crazed, fleshy mess.
Braille of a deadly condition.
Feeling burning words,
answers coded in fire.
Then again her brain was burning.
Sojourning from “the condition”.
Collapsing on silky soft sand, staring starward.
Stars doubling on themselves, reflecting his fears nature.
All was well, even knowing his RETURN was a “feared event”.
All need known was between the universe and himself.
giving Orion a wink, heading towards home.