Shoestrings (an affected poem)
Are people's
lonesome adventures
depressive masquerades?
In a culture of one's
design; only
'tis Not
Deceit tied them
together like
Shoelace
Solace.
Spiralling down, the world turns sideways;
If only it would stay still I could arrange my thoughts.
Take what you own to pay for your own funeral,
A paralysed catharsis,
Trying to crawl its way into living.
A second hesitation hanging on a trip wire,
The explosion comes before the paranoia.
To fight such weak and juvenile demons,
Is an effort wasted instead of walking way.
Saying sorry for sorry's sake:
The changeling reverting to another seed.