How can my brain be so Machiavellian?
How can the morning sun suddenly appear Orwellian?
How can my thoughts wilfully bully?
How can my psyche antagonise so willingly?
How can my mind persist in this villainous tirade
fiercely deceitful in its opportunistic raid.
The quake may have passed frantically
yet how can these aftershocks persist for eternity?
A sadistic greed that feeds this ugly thirst
to enthusiastically crusade and see me at my worst.
But why must a smile on my face carry the weight of a thousand boulders
eagerly anticipating the strain in Sisyphus’ shoulders?
Each beat of the heart is to pass the soul through a mangle
and sentience is but a sentence, not a tangible
tingle flowing but an epoch tepidly going.
Thrown into the chaos of a revolving door
unerringly silent, barren of life’s allure.
A vessel cut adrift and not seen
tormented by this hellish fever dream.
