The heart is sick

The eye is sick

The tongue is utter decay,

Smelling of dead rats.

The other, other eye is

A solid mass of waste piled upon waste

From years of

Seeing, hearing, and learning

All manners of distasteful 


I do not care if it is 

What is common.

I do not care if it is

What is accepted.

I do not imitate it

I do not condone it

I do not appreciate it

As art.

I do not give it a name

A form

A platform to stand upon.

Diabolically it grows and infiltrates

All that we know

Until one day we only know it

And nothing else is ever remembered. 

Remember – already we forget.


One thought on “Mourning 

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