The words

continue erupting,

though I would prefer

the solace

of a clouded mind—



Hazy, smoggy, pounding

with beats of

someone else’s drum—



the comfort of artificial sweetener,

unreal, like a dream

never hurt anyone—



unlike, unwelcome, unwanted clarity.



But then, what’s the point of writing

words

made temporary

by the rot of artificial sweetener?