Suppose They Chose Beams

Fevered, incredulous at ports, they made a sick jab
Once at a commentary about their demeanor where
Trickling tears over crafts were demeaned with err
Tawdry airs in comfortability jibing at their despair,
Omitting years in proven scurvy insanities, reductively
Ordaining their silence to have equaled apathy, that
Forceable communication was an impossibility, how is
One to ignore the wealth of experience albeit batty,
Deducing that jades were undervalued, when cheeky men
Took handfuls of misappraised jewels and costumes
Omnisciently assured, ironically omnipotently discoloring
Foldable spears, then erasing them completely, beams
Feebly holding up chaotic worlds alone with alice,
Forever wondering if this life was worth living, sick.

Wild – Hideouts

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