i am both

         thespian,

                  and ******...

the chikatilo
                    bullett...

   that slowly,
started eating away,

from the back
of the cranium...

   mouth-like-a-mushroom...

apparently you can only
read german philosophers,
if not wholly,
then "only" slightly
                     demented.

- because why would people
   do so?
the odd chance people
achieve
introspection of a sparrows'
song, lifting up
the labour equating itself
to literacy...

           bequeath cameo
          within the confines of
the opportunity to
assert the sigh orientated around
a prime, performance?

     i don't appreciate
reinstating Hippocratic orthodoxy...
when...
            ah...
              worth the excuse,
of liberty,
      and the boring lives
      reduced to reiterating: trivia...
it almost makes my life
worth: the presumption
of the thrill prior to a grave....

have i lived, the,
     only life?
                        no...
        but have i lived
a life, most alone?

that said,
    what would you say,
about, said example:
            without
                emphasis?

all that remains of me,
is a "question"
         regarding the technicality
of usage, with
a language, rather than as:
a language...

           can't exactly fake
a disembodiment...
              no one actually bothers
to pursue a reiteration
of such technicality...
       unless it be a technicality,
that language
  accommodates,
but reiterates itself from making
a use of.