There is a part of my psychology
I have absent mindedly
Spawned
a breed of prominently distressing insolence
As ology glides through my teeth I claw
clash combative willfulness
I radiate influence and malicious vigilance
But O,
The very void I dug I’ve grown pertinent to the roots I once
solicited slaughter to
I am twisted within the roots knotted to an impractical degree
contradicting the objective to make myself stronger the
roots remain tenacious
I persist beneath the tranquil surface
Of any other I lean stray and descend into a canyon,
A burden to the clock a
Balancing act I refuse to live a thief,
gaining profit of this
Life I have manufactured into a
circus of deceit
and as dirt clots at the peak
of my hands I ingest the debris of heedless weight
the sunlight will in time caress my face as
I can only
dig way complementary to the strength of my nail beds
so very frail
they plead for a sponge to
tend to the condition I have let them rot, decay
to their own dismay
this sponge
like my brain has
trouble absorbing substance.