Flooded mind in an arid desert existence my oasis is a square peg in Maslows hierarchy. feed me paper plated possibilities while my lungs burn for ink stained atmosphere.
Outsider, silent observer and undesignated critic - the ticking never stops without poetic deconstruction of societal wastleland shaped bombs.
Born into this I decry my morbid existence, spent in solitude spent in hunger, as amorphous animalistic anger festers until light rises out of clear sighted verses.
Torpefied torment only cured by hospitalized hour handed time spent, without relent in my parabolic chair of destined emphatic expression.