preaching loss to those
that haven't seen its pure cosmogonal face,
like a vampire feeling young off a new-ly acquainted eternal aging, or
like a future wall you supply to backs in tired moments of humanity, or
a revelry of armor in lessons of the past.
true loss-
a virus of our machine
spreading through cracks in the seams
of one's soul and
dominating your every will
and clamping shut
every peek-hole of home
in leagues of the deepness of sea
of a non-comforming depression.

to question why you get up,
is not as important as getting up.
it speaks so true of that
devil's irrelvance.