Breakdown Pt. 5

Strangers, faceless, sport attractive expressions.

“They don’t really exist”, says the deer, quite stern.
“They exist. They’re constructs of the existential,
Solidified by linguistic executions or exchanges.”, the bison says.
“That’s deterministic. These things deter, from a moralistic
Standpoint. Have you seen it in reference to other times?”
“The scientific correlations of lesser Oedipus complexes,
From more emotionless lenses, with animalistic infanticides
To inbreeding or consanguineous marriages?”
“Naturally, including locations where these stigmata
Have no prevalence. If it’s a matter of time and location,
Does it really exist?”, the deer inquires.
“Fine. I guess you don’t really exist.”, the bison smiles.
“..No I.. I..
No, I suppose I don’t.”, the deer resigns.

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Treadmill

Multi-hued heated currents,
Freely flowing in plasma globes,
Spark solitary streams in horizontal plains;
Convecting, rising, disconnecting
From gaseous laws: without constants.

Paths altered inside imprecisions
By remorseful fluorescent conductors
That built this groovy world
That contained their own
Highs and lows of woody copes.

Choice – given
Within fabricated dots.

Crowned avenues bordered
By blooming cherry blossoms
Depictions made to be plausible,
Conned by doubtable existences;
They’d unconjugate gated expanses
With lasted least resistance.

We review the “I” inside
Dreams of idealisms
Detached from before;
Defining every fiber
To be human.

Wile – Impatience wears Patience’s cloak,
While Patience is silent.

“But love–”
SHHHuT up.


Pretending to be Blind

They come in orbits
Of discarded eye sockets
Of cauterised bleeding runs;
Silent pleas of morbidity.
Plagues of infected victims
Leading lonely loveless lives
Simultaneously scream sardonically.
Vitals vieled vicariously
Through thorough theatrics
Of obvious oblique offenses
Taken from lines of informality.

While the forces of projectile
Vomit spray chunked particles
Of intent, sown in cautioned words,
Disregarded or seen as flexible,
Discontented perforated holes
Miss infrared tracking missiles
Locked on to no beginnings;
Guarded walls of inflexibility;
That hateful order.

Stained hands keeping
It in its trajectory,
Pretending to be blind
To the possibilities.

Our Faces

Release tumbling in questions,
Of ceaseless crumbling simulations,
Of yes or no answers,
Of truth be told or lies in bold,
Of confirmation or conflagration,
Of previously preconceived notions.

Is judgement sought after
When attention is asked for,
Is judgement’s existence nullified
In the ones that fuel acceptance.
While it unanimously cries
To prove us otherwise;
Hideous wiles for the sake
Of intoxicated inflations
Of cognitive function.

Is the search located in that space
Of scathing moral bastions
Catapulting inculpating
Tar smothered boulders
In our faces.

While the wielders
Hold the answers.