Faceless...
pounding the wet
cement of life...
ossified remains a mental
storehouse...the
floors bare.
every treasure has been
sold; some
given away all in the name of
'freedom.'
how much have i given
just for the taste of finding me...if i could
just have another pair
of eyes peer into this mass
of my life and lable it...call it something-
give it a catagory a lable...
hey man! calling you to take on your
adam responsibility and name me!
come and name me
name me...i said
name me damn it!
give me a lable...something...
to the young man with no face, no name, no definition...just form and void. to the young man adept at wearing the skin and faces of others..the one skilled, circus-style, in servicing the needs of your emotions; his discarded in the corner of life.
he comes back to the same room night after night; having drained himself fulfilling the sordid, selfish, unrealistic desires of others...he comes back to what...the empty darkness of a nothingness living and pulsating...breathing and extending its own pseudo-comfort; but in reality providing nothing but a vamperic bleeding of whatever flows in his veins. to the young man whos's mental treasuries are in red-level deficit; yet he continues to give...give what? great black chameleon of a man...living...living...living...or something...
©2011 Spox
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