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Soul Ripper
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Return Ive lost what makes me unique
because I speak in my sleep
and the prowling prying ears
were all to eager
to steal my secrets away.
They replicate my visions
with visages made of paper mache
tackily colored with crayons
and the tears of my children
who toil in your sweatshops.
If the path to home diverges
and Ive forgotten which fork to take
I'll forge ahead through the prickly
underbrush burned clean by
the fires of virility and vice
that masquerade as character traits
that made your career as
a clown interesting and depressingly empty.
Ive lost what wakes me at night
for I've never conquered my plight
and instead allowed the shadows' eyes
to stare through my battered soul
and watch my story unfold
the stumbling of a newborn foal.
