The Human Affliction


Without moral sense or self pity

He takes out all his anger on his self

Bashing at with rage

His cage and his brain

Drowning all of his pain

Away with proof upon proof after proof

What a waste of space

His family's disgrace

The one they wonder of along the power lines

And bring up as table talk

He breaks away gallantly from time and from space

Latching on to the nearest table with his hands by his face

With his soul in his palms

As tears cried out of time

With his beat to the rhythm

Of his master design

He is bent on the truth

In a mood swing of acceptance

That will accept his ascension to

A status less mentioned

Self righteousness tugging at the back of his coat

But the devil himself he throws away down his throat

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