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I Know Nothing of Something
Trying to discern myself
in the midst of such-and-such,
in the haze of anonymity,
to define this life
as more than just a bundle of rhymes
disguising a ramble.
But we've an affinity for the pretty:
the silk sheet
thrown over the shambles.
And it was this preference
that vandalized my desire
to place the message before the words.
Now I write absurd,
trying to keep your attention
for long enough to be heard throughout.
But never is my voice
strong enough to will you into submission
like before.
I think I lost something precious
in the years' transition.
A vision once voluptuously surreal
has been flattened plain
by my apathetic heel
and shoveled aside...
I know nothing of Something
anymore
except the shadow it casts on the carpet
after I walked outside
and closed the door.
