Placebo Effect

Would it offend you

if I told you

poetic catharsis

was just a placebo,

only as present

as you believe?



Nothing kills us more

than stanza whores

marketing their between-the-lines

bullshit;

those sum-is-greater-than-its-parts rhymes.



So whimsical

to believe

this art harbors more than

face value.

Last time I checked,

words

didn't have souls,

and we were only applying

personal preference

to a stranger's

ambiguity

in order to cover the blemish

lest

we became exposed!



Ahhh, I confess!

There was never a fine line

between my voice

and a mess of rhymes.

No, no!

Not at all anything sublime

spawned from the dawn

of a metaphor...

the crescendo

of my imagery,

as it peaked

and all sides pointed to the same trend:

          They were all just

          different ways to pretend...



...pretend we had something to say,

a movement to stamp

along the way

along the road

to feelings.

So we chose

those quote-worthy nodes

to scratch

until they itched

more

    and

        more

            and



                oh  



                    my    



                        god



we were all just whores...

filthily draining our pores

and sharing,

discussing

which one was the better leech,

never stopping to say

      "Hey man, this shit I just wrote,

       it was random... random...

       and I was just praying

       that someone would tack on,

       in tandem,

       a little meaning..."

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Ruth Lovejoy's picture

this is interesting to say least but I have a question,how do you personally know words don't have souls? One needs to prove soul exists first to determine what is contained in or not contained in-something to think about haha