I wish to know
if humans were made to suffer.
I think the answer is perhaps just simply, some of them.
for in the world of solipsism, if it matters to you, it matters
Mind over matter, or matter over mind
there always exists a jubilance of time
to look within our selves and cast that ugly stain away;
to open your mouth & let the smell of soul-decay
find its way to me, please, for then I can recall
that I am home for once, and you can tie my wrists to a hook on the wall.
For I never find it simple or productive to trust someone who has not dipped their toes into the pools of that which eludes
me