It is layered deep.
Black words shift, sliding in interlocking shields, serifs sculpting sinister glyphs.
They guard it. They keep it from me.
My shears of punctuation and logic (pieced together with loci of syllogisms) puncture words, play havoc with layered defenses.
The words scream non sequitur shouts of agony and rage. I press on. “You should have!” Snip. “Immature ass!” Snip. “You didn’t!” Snip. “You never!” Snip.
The last word screams “I’m leaving,” but I snip snip snip it away.
I reach into the center of the fallen fortress to claim my prize.
I don’t know why I’m alone.