poetry as a form of escapism
by no-truth-login
*displeased to report all my attempts
proven unsuccessful
*the poetry that forms yet mocks, gloriously,
all things that which avoidance was intended,
this stuffing, too tough to swallow, just surfaces scissoring me,
appears unMasked, pushing, bullying to the head of the line*
*my will contravened, and now in review, poems suspected,
poetry was a wonderful, grand failure, to wit, escaping to
the fore, were the very words from which I sought relief, they,
didn’t escape my view, so when imprisoned, they were damning*
*words that arose from the gullet gorge, as you can espy verily,
verified words of little value, no truth, these them are the ones
I’ve come to despair + despise, hurtful to my eyes,
my escape not merely in vain, but rocks hurled,* so my escape foiled*
myself,
beneath buried