portents
The baby monitor picks up lullabies from before babies.
There’s supposed to be a door there.
That’s what he said, anyway.
According to the diagram, there’s
This feels like either the aftermath or the invitation. Not sticking around to find out.
No one wanted to sit down after the machine said, “Do not mistake the body for the patient.”
I don’t think the other side is sending their best portals.
Not sure what isn’t here yet. Don’t love that there might be an answer.
Not every omen has ambition.
Nobody else is supposed to still be here.
This feels less like an offer and more like a warning.
I took it, because of course I did.