In my own disillusionment
I can't bear to stand what's real and what's left
of a sanity slipping, wasting an agonizing trait.

I called forth the realm identifiable
only by a state of callousness and quantifiable
threats to my mental behaviour instead.

Have I gone to a disillusionment
of sorts that the placid reality and factual arbitrary reasons
contemplate my understanding to imply I made treason?

Maybe so,
maybe the idea of a life wanting an odd more
and grasping the heel of the fact weakens the sour show.