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Filthy And Troublesome Entity
Folder:
Lost Writes (2003) What other creation can elicit
Such feelings of desperation?
Thoughts of helplessness
As we spiral into decimation
Clenching on to choices
Putting all our faith in the trajectory of our imaginations' inner voices.
What other ruse can leave
Our silly minds amused
By offering the ultimate answer
If we're dense enough to assume
That this absurdity can be a savior, not a cancer?
What other stead is better left
A thing unsaid?
A mystery forever drifting in our heads
In order to retain its potency
And drive us blind into the dead?
What other constant
Leaves us no more room growth?
No reason for proliferation of our souls
Since this sensation brings us nowhere
But to all our graves foretold.
Have at you, Fate!
To think that you are something... anything innate
Makes every spirit deathly thin like paper plates...
Strips me of the very dynamite I bring to every firefight tonight
In hopes that I can shatter will and break new ground for my own sake.
