Calibrated versions of
my reflections, I shatter with
fists of petulance.
And
still they never seem to shatter.
No where do I see a shard cutting upon
my wrists...
But bluntly do the words overwhelm
every vocalization that is pummelled
with every suppressed
motif..
That never stood a chance of being more than just
a paper Mache
eclipse.
Never truly covering anything just falling apart
before the form that
was solid like imagination.
Instead falling apart like yesterdays fake news.
Never reading deeper
than the surface,
only being more like a comedy page
that no one finds funny.