It’s not the lover of your dreams,
but this one’s real.
The conduits of high allpower
were found abusing their good looks
bar stool away. Today
the aftermath aroma is not yours.
But you were leaving anyway.
Air in. Breath out.
Chew slowly, bite-sizes only.
Array of cross sum plays
you still reserve for yourself
isn’t leading anywhere anymore, it seems.
Things are against the odds.
Mind-over-matter vertebrates
in sanctioned silence of perfect command
repurpose tissue to blossom abdomens,
repurpose world around,
yet cannot find a path to escape
the labyrinths of their own will.
No compromise sent down from the high ground,
no chance for unjudged attempts,
no getting off the hook.
Conceptual passions, patterns and templates to prescribe the most proper pace for the reality to follow, only to learn you can stick up your metronomes the places of your choice. Newfound games and redeveloped rules, contraptions cleverly designed to skew the chances in your favor, none of it gets any attention. Quite infuriating. Until you finally give up on your mirrors and find a much truer reflection to see all this conditioning wasn’t fruitles, far worse, it’s you who got conditioned. To realize that this throbbing pain is actually coming from bashing your head against the wall, almost literally, never finding any openings, though there are ways to get around, above, or even through - if the highest level of intensity is the most desired.