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the mucus within me

a hardy stock absence fills me, rejecting the opinions of classified truths day to day, and creating a submissive potency that puts other personalities at a faulted stance… can we escape this urge with a doctor’s care?… what questions these humans be… with their sadomasochistic ways of pronouncing themselves villains and eliminating themselves by leaps and bounds through time and space exquisite… the sludge is probably running through my veins as I speak this, but how we care not for this fettered existence… there are problems, no doubt, but I choose not to pursue their validity any further than I can throw myself into the fray of boredom or engorged egotism… where I twist and spent wishes make their sounds heard, the sudden dark of heart makes the deadened seem wizened through misled youth, and this is the unfounded passion that seeks my soul… breeding spite in deep within my masking will, a force the opposition of which pains my biologic state and strata, but there is an end to these words… as though the thoughts were to lie dormant at the surface of some hidden thing… the tempted undreamed unkempt with writhing snakes for hair… the assault on senses born of fate ill-kept with elliptic taint as winds erode the memory… waste from the years I have left behind me in a wake of unhappy yet satisfied knowing… the end so terribly nimble and near, but so far away as to evoke regret through this pumping heart… what dragging sins become apparent in this near-set future?… there never was doubt that couldn’t be awarded or avoided with misery… yellow-green shot through with scraps of orange and brown deflecting the ache that it takes to push past the marrow… the narrowed focus of being the truly deceived, manipulated from simpletons planning their checker board tests of strength, and ages remaining to discover what falsehoods can be revealed behind the masks playing havoc behind the scenes… the horrid fantasy world that becomes the game board in action… mocking reality for the fears inherent in other minds, forsaking the coming of tomorrow’s sunrise, but contrasting amidst the nighttime wrath of stones unturned… where have I turned away from this shambles?…

Thanks, khet.