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C
Poems
Nov 2010
I Am Created
the Exquisite Executioner.
What kind of organic golem
of engrammic man am I,
so cold as to make you
quiver
.
You ask what hides under
my thin veneer of vernacular?
A
bullshitter
.
Caressing a mind swollen with Superego
I'd rather be traveling Home if only
I could just let
Me
go.
For
I am the ****, leftover from
your irate iron decisions.
I am the sepulcher, wreathed by
your iconoclastic tongue.
I am the maw
trite in humanity
partite in hunger.
Written by
C
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