Friday, February 13, 2015

A Note on Pathos

Weak feelings of foreclosure, one breath high upon the pile
a monumental steamroller, underneath, while the crowd shouts for more
eating flesh, pulling the flesh, smashing everything down, eviscerate
incited agenda, want to dissect, everyone who stood
you feel nothing, to lose everything, emotions through, and the distance grows
no internal apocalyptic, never loved, evil compelled by logic
the numbness, a rejection of everything, furrowed people
and care about nothing, the strive, the purpose, the agenda
struggling within, to die once more, dead in their eyes
this creeps upon, from her lips, with bright eyes and darkened souls
you, recognizable soul, slow corrosion, I nail you to the floor,
crawls up the back, the forces of good and evil, bloodthirsty ghoul
and takes you with the wildness, never inhabited, under the devious face
by surprise, raised in your own image, they do lie, falling asleep
with capacity, chewing your heart, here to trick you, to fold
the most important, turns to the mouth, seeing darkness, into little creatures
you feel nothing, hoisted white flags, plastic spreading sickness
or capacity for empathy with anyone else, giving the flame
you become a blind and brutal force, a proxy for freedom, for execution, sick like you
that has no direction, burying your head, breathe in the dark as the others sleep
or destination, swallowed, engulfed, feeling the blood, out into the streets.

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