So what do I do in this life?
Live, lust, lucid like the absent breed that I am
For the suffering the suffered the tormented wept and wrecked
Pondering the brain as I am in darkness
With no expression except a page

A page of desperation and deceit
The whirling split black hole
Devoid of dreams and living
Is just my placebo pulling, placid lie
A dummy quietly controlled

And so….

Better to pretend, in psychosomatics
Or the guilt festering flies
The forged brittle shells
Shells that hold our severed skin succulent
Together but approvingly apart as well.

08/26/2013