Tuesday, December 9

Morbid Orbit

I exist. Why.
Some reason. A mockery.
I struggle, I breathe.
Questions of Why? wherefore?
Plaguey Nonsense.
A world of disease, death
too comfortable. These lives
existential because all is given.
food. clothing. shelter.

What do we need?
Love a mimicry of Life.
A reason to go on.
cowardice to die.
frightening questions of thought.
Thinking underground.
Thinking solemnly.
Breathing? Thinking?
oxygen. thought.
stop! why? where is the need.

It all decays.
rotting under the sun,
in the mouldy coffin,
burnt on a pyre, polluting
disease. The Human disease.
Questions of God? Questions
of toys. See us run, scramble, think,
of meaning in a meaningless shamble.

fluidity, change, answers
no answers. Illusions,
a matrix, fat, corrupt, absorbing,
drenching, soaking
into my flesh. incumbent,
like a rash, scratchy
puss like, angry posthumus boils.
These answers. where are they?
God? a pronunciation more difficult
than a Houyhnhnm.

A spelling, power to what end
feel free to decay at your own
pace, lucky to burn on a pyre
than rot in a grave. lucky to
be manure than black smoke.
Parody, all in the name of
a fuckrimonious religion.

Creeping, Stagnating, born and
baptized, dead and buried.
A beginning with an end
no end to the beginning, no
beginning to the end.
circle. question. answer.

fuckrimonious.

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