Desperation within these darker places,
I have an ironed out yearning to bid farewell to those faces,
Who chase me down their corridors of boredom,
I'm towel dried by routine and so stripped of wisdom.

That slithering hand around that cold, lifeless face,
****** and clockwise at one insipid pace,
Tells me I'm late and I've just missed mirth's deadline,
So here I am, consigned to this, life's callous, common flatline.

But I will rage and I will curse at the dust and dawn,
I'll think tightly of a polished image and forget that despotic yawn,
I'll beg truth to show me beauty, ardor and distress,
And I will open my enervated eyes to this old miraculous mess.