ThE worlD DIsagrEeS




Too late now.

I did see
Not hear
Nor feel
But I did see
For a moment it was
Not long but enough
Enough to see
What I did see,
For I did see the shapes
Each curve and edge
The soft, the rough
Each line and path
The blue, the red
That is what I did see
For that short moment in time
I did see you.

We live in lives full of lies,
Everyone.
A few words that sleep beneath your rough, cold skin, waiting.
Waiting and watching as your world changes colour; obnubilates and conceals the white.
All the while you are oblivious, too caught up in a web contrived of pure mystery.
Woven by predujicious circles of black.
Did you hear that?

To say that you love me would make me an Ersatz being,
A substitute
An inferior entity woven like nylon;
Over
And
Over,
To be used as a shirt.
Nothing more than to cover another's body
To hide them in synthetic fibres,
A spurious masks.

I never get tired of the perpetual winding
Of untrue nature.
I am unsound like polyester,
No soft cotton.
Unpick my threads
Each stitch as rough as my skin.
Pull out my stuffing
And cut through my back.  
                              
                                        Throw me to the side.

Then buy a new doll.

Parce que.

Un mot simple que nous ne pouvons pas simplement étendre sur.

Mais pourquoi?

Letter 'C'
Letter 'S'; compress.
Wrap it to the left side,
Now to the right.
Fibres sooth my skin,
Rough ****** against integument.
Take it from below me,
Kick it away.
My neck and jaw hold me;
Rapturous, my head is high.
6,000 Newtrons force elongated time.
Ancestry is blocked,
Origin destroyed.
Only twenty minutes,
Trachea gripped, cervical vertebrae;
I'm not kneeling.
Convulvulus arvensis
My roots are deep, hard to suppress.
Attenuated and twisted,
Sheathed around others;
Proceed to ween suoport.

Fallacious masks embodied with despondency and pessimism;
Darkened notions of subconciousness painted with an agglomeration of colours and shapes.
We are too naïve.
A plinth of porcelain holds an emptiness full of blasphemy,
As if it were an ornament of the prodigal son.
Our insides turn from white to crimson,
And the outside world maintains its tarnished brass colour,
Counterfeiting gold.
We are all covered in the inordinate dirt of our sins.
Wash your body well and let the blue lead you home.

Abstract shapes of various colours
Congregate against the viridescent canvas,
Ready to worship the thing that was hidden away for so long; arcane.
Prodigious circles of many talents,
A constant rotation of life and death.
A long road with no end.
Or a deep ocean with no beginning?
While the verdency of eau de Nil possess such entities,
The black and yellow striped obscurities peculate life and confer to the triangles.
Obnubilate.