I am not good, I am not great,
I do as I should but as a fake,
Getting by on my anxiety,
Guided by sure finalities,
I am good, God is great,
Both do as we should but so full of hate,
Meanings here and meanings where,
Meanings rare and I’m stuck there,
You’re in one, I’m in two,
Masks are fun to hide the truth,
Focused on self-defined tragedy,
Self-obsessed professed insanity,
No relief or relax from the dark,
Bruised by bottle caps and teeth marks,
Bats and owls curse spiritual slurs,
The Sleep of Reason greets Goya’s monsters,
Stuck in a poets phonetic wasteland,
Letters scattered like grains of sand,
Hunched over tables convulsing religiously,
Punching out feelings for depressions vanity,
Mutters of memory’s shadows,
Patterns of clarity in charlatans clothes,
Search for a meaning of proof,
If any as denial and distraction wage a truce,
The Artist’s Reward was always a lie,
To defy life first you must die,
Continue this imprisonment in institutional prostitution,
Reverting, perverting once innate constitution,
Create an ornate human and visceral solution,
Refusing the fusion spit out prose pollution,
Confusion in this constant cyclical conclusion