So we walked a while, I guess,
Along some disused byway.
At the time we could have been heading into an incinerator,
But there was nothing so pleasurable awaiting us.
I had told everybody that I had deflated them,
And that they were now practically, as well as theoretically, useless-
And that they shouldn’t ever contact me again
Because I would be “out of town”
“On business”.
We walked past a burnt out warehouse that stunk of something,
I don’t know what,
And I made a mental note regarding my inevitable death.
“It’s inevitable,” I said.
“What’s inevitable?”
Parts of trees fell away and drifted off pointedly,
Though not entirely abreast of “why”.
“My death,” I responded eventually, getting my breath under control.
We walked past a dog that was vomiting up something,
I couldn’t see what,
Possibly another dog.
It looked at us without a glimpse of mercy;
Just cold, selfish, self-dread hanging in its hangdog eyes.
Like us, it had gone right out of style.
“I told everyone to fuck off,” I muttered of factly,
The words popping out,
Each one as unutterably alien to me as my body.
I got no reply for we had already become inextricable.
And we were walking up to the incinerator.