when i close my eyes i see what you see
an orb, an orb, an orb.
red and shining with blood that drips
down my neck and stains my shirts
gets in my eyes and soddens my black hair
sticky against my scalp.
when i open my eyes
it's trees and concrete, mayors and dogs,
television shows on projectors and music from computers,
dirt in the sink and dirt in the dishwasher,
rotten fruit, laundry, dust.
when i hold the blade of gameplay's knife the orb
realized itself in the world just like they say
in PlayStation advertisements of yore:
"play in ours."
ours, and ours. i turn the knife.