Guilty Horrors

The room is quiet now, but it's so loud. My memories have

been retconned, the files overwritten. Every face I erased, every sickness I

smitten. They don't stare with victim's eyes accusing pure. They look at

me with colleague's curiosity for sure. Was my coefficient high? Was my potenz

so great? A question hangs in the silence, a terrible wait. Were you in

the tank? Would you be in the tank? Did I make room for you

in the tank? I pulled the trigger on a future I was harvesting.

I was the groundskeeper for the grotesque thinking orchard. Sybil whisper, her emotional recursion