I need to shed a bit of justification
Through this tranquil casque of inner decline
And all the words of the inconsequential
Spew forth, leaving enough for you to surmise
That all of my screaming allusions
Are just a symptom of this anastaltic life.
Simple, faded, plastic projections
Of selfish, misanthropic, bestial desire.
Now everything slows to a stand still
And my hard sought understanding is no concern
And these distended, doubt-soaked bandages
Will help me hang this shallow porcelain.
This is my seeming disgrace
That everyone adores.
These worthless hands
Still clasping thorns
And I don’t recognize them anymore.
So, why don’t I run?
I’ve embraced my incandescent phage.
There is nothing left.
And I find peace in entropic treague.
This shallow mask.
Even without me, it screams our name.
There’s no escape
Because memory’s the only guide for this shame.
I never thought to provide clarification
For my words were never yours to bear
Though maybe they will cause a manic erosion
Of this intricate clasp of tears,
But what of these illustrious illusions?
They water down all the syndicated strife.
All the depressive casts of those eyes
Will drone the panic of terminal spite
Through the trampled quest for iridescence
Dig a trough to our outward regression
And reach out so softly, fingers trace out the pesterous
Loving obsession with this shallow porcelain.
This is my seeming disgrace
That everyone adores.
These worthless hands
Still clasping thorns
And I don’t recognize them anymore.
So, why don’t I run?
I’ve embraced my incandescent phage.
There is nothing left.
And I find peace in entropic treague.
This shallow mask.
Even without me, it screams our name.
There’s no escape
Because memory’s the only guide for this shame.
This is all a farce
Throughout this rasp.
There is no one there
Underneath this mask.
This portraits faded
From out the sash
That held a visage
Once worth fighting for.
Once worth dying for.
Once worth more than this worthless, hollow husk.