Filthy And Troublesome Entity

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.

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