001_PSYCHOPOMP_AVE

LEDGER_ENTRY: 001 // PSYCHOPOMP_AVE
DISPATCH: 01 // THE_DOOR_OPENS
STATUS: PARTIAL_DECRYPT
I walk the corridor of twilight hours,
where lamplight flickers like synaptic sparks
in a tired hemisphere of dream. 
The world hums in low sedation—
a soft hum,
like haloperidol in the bloodstream of a nation.

        

            [ ERROR: DATA_SEGMENT_001_A_CORRUPTED ]

            [ REASON: UNAUTHORIZED_OBSERVATION ]
        
The streets are institutional in their repetition 
routines polished into catatonia.
And the people,
God, the people—
they wear their delusions like credentials,
eyes blank with the confidence of the medicated,
each convinced they are the only sane patient
in this great asylum of denial.
DATA_WIPED_BY_ADMIN
> LOG_END: 001_PSYCHOPOMP_AVE
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“The ink binds what the mouth would deny.”