Left without reason,
caught in the breeze
penetrating me;
a season for treason
discussing
the inevitable concussion
of creative repercussion.

Big bad pig man,
same sad **** plan;
it's for the audience
(we like you!)
hence the distorted sense
of a reported defense
impaled and left stale
atop a graying fence.

Trash the artistry,
erase the registry;
no active hard drive necessary.

The creeps are a lie:
it's not fine to color
outside the lines.
Remain sane in that little brain
with that structured page
to sterilize natural rage;

copy and paste with haste
until the end,
because approval of a friend
and the applause
of a predetermined cause
is all that's needed
to feel like we've succeeded.

"Safety in warmth
above the floor indoors,
where outside the cold's too bold."

Forget this united mantra,
shred your clothes and dip your toes,
and join me as a contra.

Because obscure is the cure,
while ease has always been the disease.