nervous eating incited,
in a fortress where the enemy is said not to lie,
munching on potato chips,
behold a spy,
yet i strangely feel as if am,
tippy toeing through the holographic red lines of the halls,
that establish mazes within mazes within mazes,
finagling;
perhaps it is the photographs where I am sparse, fake smiles implied.
what is to be if i accidently slip?
disintegration, i would hope.
to be caught by him would eat me up.
