A little bit of Emile Zola.
“They dared not peer down into their own natures, down into the feverish confusion that filled their minds with a kind of dense, acrid mist.”

They thought he was pithed that man with the lithp but
he fooled them all.

He bathed in the midnight of madness and dried on the reason of hope,he sang with a voice forced with gladness and feasted on cakes made from soap.

A name that he knew he once carried was the same as the woman he married but he mumbled in metaphor and I wondered,
what the hell for
as he crumbled away into
the end of each day.

I’m Sad
Excellence, so promising, right within reach,
Oh-so beyond comprehension, a few feet.
It’s sad
Prudently bliss, the metaphysically amiss.
Emotionally pithed, although hard to admit.
Sad
Tho none who can deceive show the opposite side of me, instead,
Me, who can deceive, show the opposite to none and only to me.