Pastrami on Toast

I slice your insincerity like pastrami
To cover my buttered toast;
The orange juice, the fresh brew
Left untouched.

I grate your cheese, lactose-free
Lies upon lies upon piles piled
Beyond our safe zone; fake phones
And purged porn drape our doors.

I toss the remnants of every us
Down the drain revolving;
Not recycling our dead dreams
Of an inconceivable infinity.

I slice my last days into slivers
Of meaning, glyphs into characters
Forming words of wonderment
Equally spaced into sentences,
Purposely punctuated
Into paragraphs of paranoia;
I keep on digging deep
The hole of my final escape.

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