The easiest way to put it,
is that I want to be saved.
I believe we lie to ourselves,
everyone is waiting for reassurance,
a promise that there is better awaiting.
Everyone thinks they’re worthy of prophecy,
redemption by default.
Ah that lurking thing!
That hovers between our sides, that aches and moans for conviction,
we’re sentenced into madness.
But she waits for no one,
and she never has to write a word,
graceful and clear,
loyal to her cause.
I’ve seen women drown in prose,
who wear fire on their eyelids,
and they’re hardly the soul you’d want by your side,
and others mute,
hiding behind a veil of concern and courtesy,
and you’d never know who they are.
Choke on your mind,
gag on your ability to put another man down,
feed that insatiable self until gluttony is so habitual,
it’s inevitable you’ll be the only one,
left to your wit and mock,
the lonely laughing stock.
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