dead folks deserve their malodorous embraces--
acclimated to hearts and
ruinous logic--
they contain themselves entirely
and huddle in the terror
of god's absence,
liberated into madness,
dragging fleshy little hands across
their slackened lines of luck.
i'm no means to be wrapped themselves amongst,
driven determinedly towards extremes
in their unhinged attempts at thought.
my generation's fading fast-- adulthood evolves,
the weak are trapped.
emotional response without responsibility,
childlike regression, impenetrable infinity.
No comments:
Post a Comment