unlike
a given death there are several vices where one knows a soul is writhing. such
bull-fungus such algae in the walls insomuch as a fretted businessman; to cut
his pride where it was once dear faith while another speaks pleasingly. the
collar inside so attracted to indecency while it destroys its inhabitance. so
absorbed by such feelings where they wonder, why the anger? such deceitful
waters such blackdamp pains while parents feel so proud! something simple or to
hate certain sentences while one asks a deep question: “Is it true?” “Of course it isn’t!” years into some feud some sickness while
all humans are so innocent: the mistaken assessment, while labeling humans,
where a bleeping hunch is chased down until one manufactures it! we baptize our perception we detach our
commonsense where it feels perfect to carry a negative emotion. (this man or
his screams while forced to play checkers. this man his neuroses, that woman
her pathologies, or overseers sleeping at the helm!) so addicted to anything pleasant. so
cursed by everything he admires. or so pregnant with affliction. to have died like schizophrenics or to
feel polarized while desperate, determined or dreaded to manage demons or
deserts while life is tax deductible.
(I can’t shake a feather it tickles like sorrows it laughs at an inner
inability; those lonely hallways those damned doorbells or that ringing ass
phone; so galvanized against injustice so fueled while too understanding of the
means by which we seek an absolute. such repeated history such indicative
behaviors while drugs, fury and sex haunt every level.)
