Desolation is pulling my strings.

Seeing what you see,

saying what you think,

How can you disagree?

How can you believe that I am whole?

Sweet, mellow drama

and the love that pathos brings

fill my veins like morphine

and I, barefoot,

I’m not coming home.

It’s painful to be this free.

It’s only an empty box.

How can you disagree?

Semper—

semper something.

I’m almost hurting intentionally.

I know you know the drill.

Let me languish here loudly—

let me do god’s will.

I’ll put on a content face here

in the embrace of charity and condescension

with angels and good men,

with snakes and rapid descent.

I’ll finish my sentence blithely, blandly,

and wonder internally

what it was she meant.

This is nature’s sadism,

what remains for men like me:

disarmed in blissful aching—

how can you disagree?