Dry and clinging to the walls of my empty suspicion
I crawl without moving
And move towards the hollow calls of foolish lies,

Whose meat feeds my need to feel numb,
Dumb and distracted,
I repeatedly re-enact the play that is my life,
A satire of piecemealing the whole,
Living on the gratification of stealing being,
Not certain of actual feeling
Persisting as a pretend order amongst the chaos
That permeates the holes within the hollow
Constantly doubting.

Scraping and scarring the cold surface
I’ve molded to seal my fading warmth
Within the progressive advances of a lost purgatory unseen.