all the world's a slasher flick, and
all of us are merely extras,
in supporting roles as murder-fodder

the killers on this planet-sized screen
     uncontrolled cells
     not-so-secret cabals
     gun toters and unthinking voters
     the inattentive and the obsessed
track us as easy prey,
with life a willing accomplice in the terminal pursuit

no wonder we are always running
looking back over our shoulders,
tripping over our own feet
in our constant mad dash
to imaginary safety, as
our many monsters walk calmy

(what's the rush, when
they always get us in the end?)

are we wasting time,
capricious directors going way over budget?
if we just...

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