Experimental. Or just mental. But I've seen worse.
October 3, 2011
Tomorrows grave, today's day.
A second nonetheless
and a second wasted, in your presence.
You can tell me to do this and that,
for the good of my soul,
for the good of my dwindling facade
the skin peeling off in obsessions reflection.
You could say "you're drowning, for God's sake!"
and I'd let the air dissipate from my lungs.
I know what I should and shouldn't do,
but boundaries are flexible,
and I'll push the railing, till I fall to death.
No one ever told me
why taking risks never paid off.
No one wanted to admit they're liars.
And no one wanted to try it for themselves,
the false and the doppelgangers,
you chameleonic cursed, upturned in the
ideal of societal to be or not to be.
I could try and make sense to you,
but what's the point, in hearing your monotonic
ironic, tectonic, casuistic, distortations?
So why don't I try
and tell you for it?
Doomed to be, but not without a choice,
and that's mine to make, I've made already.
Step off the cliff,
into saturated hydrogen di-
ox-I'd never imagine a dream as immense as this
or a face as acutely void and vacuous as yours.
To a voice that's equally (more or less)
a vapid waste of clammy breath
equating from the hollowed cheeks and
stiff-necked larynx of a muted mule.
Respect, my dear fellow respiring species,
is something I cannot afford to give.