Thursday, December 5, 2013


It is this desiccation of self that wears us into these thin places.
This constant battle with ever-resurgent enemies that never tire.
 And we’re out here like some bumps on a log waiting for the next onslaught-
Bring the noise
Our voices will be suffocated in the smog and scattered to the wind
even the train has no respect for the dead
we will not be remembered, we will not mean shit in the years that follow us
we would be lying to ourselves to think otherwise
we would be betraying ourselves to think that we’ll ever reach absolution
but I wonder often, why you teach it
proliferating the idea while despising it, while harping on the invalidity giving it cause for celebration
vindicating through advertisement
at the same time; I am jaded
I am corrupted through my hate
in this contempt
I am addicted, in a way that rings true beyond myself
Like so many fiends, seeking the blood of the innocent in the night
I cannot be satiated in this way
It would be like a vampire to a robot
our souls are the butts of jokes
We will never see heaven.   

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