Pattern, destroyed.

Terse, spread. Congeal.
Parched, cracked- unforgiven.
Knowledge, nonsense
Right and wrong- blurred.

Tension, snapped. Wrecked.
Burgeoning, blooming- spent.
Selfish, succumbed
Flexing at the hip- nothing.

Disjointed, insanity. Spoiled.
Cocky ambivalence exudes
Fuck the pattern, swerving
Hit everything until it breaks.

This is a Post-Modern
Mind-fuck.
Boisterous and yet hushed.
Playing with 'suppose'...

Foreplay rots in my mind
Aged in conceptual platitudes
Forth & Back, Back & Forth
Marching sideways to nowhere

A lake, a farm, a midnight clear
Spontaneous ramblings appear
Ejaculation of a promise
Disappearing in the 'yes but no'

I've come.
Without.
Void- widening.
Textual perversion, exploited.

The night knows of secrets
That lie as they lie in wait.
Tossing and turning into,
Cul-de-sac's of waste.

Gas-less fumes expand
Carbon exudes from lungs that contract
In an ode to joy that perspires,
From probation that longs for closure.

In so many ways and on so many days
The hunt for protection from delusion dips further
Canyons of claims, and chasms of chains
Chink against bruised thighs that lack fusion.

Milk drips from a tap made of flesh
Lips purse in angered revulsion
Bivouac anywhere, just to get this 'fuck' on.
But the courage of a soldier kicks dirt into such thoughts

Knowing full well that the lingering doubt behind the reasons to pause
Will screech louder than all detonated bombs in existence.
And the rotted cake with its rancid cream
Will linger longer in the belly of regret.

So which the greater demon to suffice?
Who knows, in this world of symmetry
Dug into the prosperity of those that came to be
As a result of the love spent in worry-free youth.