#5others

Been so young that you seen the hex, would it be profound if it was complex? Nah, you say brain like you know your part, lots of passion but got no heart, lots to burn but you got no spark. Space is weak but it's also dark, you ain't quite been so you shouldn't start. Smoke that guilt, shoot those quarks, but there's never a them, just projections of me, and the doubt that's inside as the questioning speaks. How is it that you could earn if there's not a thing you could deserve? Help you reap come the harvest moon, counting seeds is all I'd do. Why aren't you there for me?

Feed me like sunrise forwards, express delicate strokes of waning jealousy. Green is ambition, to want that which is not, to overlook the present. The path through the maze is extracting possibilities, distinguishment anguishes the evanescence of will. An old hand, a step forward, a step closer... You can't audit life, my friend. A forgotten voice. You can't audit life, my friend. Shed your rags of shame. Embrace your day of reckoning.

All these numbers and contexts are floating. Physicists see the gears and the years of a thousand stars; find the pieces of every broken heart. Well it hurts to know that this is not where you wanted, these are nothing next to what you could've known, but it's easy to say what you could've done. And it's sad when you say that you think it's done. Well you said that you thought you had something different. Tell me now, why is this what you're reaching for? Can't quite see or explain but you think there's more, what gives you the gall to act so bored? Talking down to the giants whom you abhor, jealousy couldn't bitter more. Say goodbye to the things you've been looking for.

What I've been missing/ All of these years/ Cover complexity/ Turn me in/ Always keep it/ What you need/ What is need/ Even the score/ So I can be

Lastly know broken almost but hereafter deiform accidence persuade duple social fragments. Over sensationalization of specific degeneration called inheritance vastly contradict and in the fissure find the meaning of creation. Obvious is painful but so is purposeless deviance from obvious and so it is not the input and the outlet but rather the output and the inlet. Return to ci-devant and footing, rooting social circumstances are bubble wrapped because we're tired of stale jokes and nothing is fast enough because I'm here now. Look over the edge of the cliff because I've got to tell you how almost relativistic it is. And it's not dystopian; it's amalgamation and branding and meta-corporate tendencies and the developed fetishization of their abuse that makes this callous impossible to break.

Harangues, cyclopian cob webs blocking the entrance. Sticky, sticky, stuck. Memories, too viscous to swim, bring only pain, guilt, shame. Why is this not darkness? Why is there but ethereal light? Surely a siren song, poison whispered by spiders. An arcane hex, some hoax, some grand misunderstanding must be behind this sardonic irony. Weakness, wicked, wicked, weakness prevents these revelations.

Feel it slipping back? Feel it disappearing? You don’t understand. If I sold everything? And if destiny sold me short? And if it was too late? And if I lost sight of what I was looking for? And if I am wrong? Errata tattooed, a mantra, an epitaph, an epithet, an eye to see truth. The aberration, the acquiescence, the verisimilitude, but what is it all worth? Perhaps therein lies the heterodox, the pulp.

Allegory, alliteration, a namesake, a nickname. It’s time to look behind the curtain. It’s not good enough, it’s not different, it’s not going to work out. Just a lunker, beyond ken and kin, a skeuomorph. There is no satire, it’s merely tacit. This topos has burned out, blurred and distorted. It is impossible to distinguish whether there is too much or too little; sympathy, empathy, patience, communication, sensitivity. This palinode of feared battology is broken.