Poetry

Nihilistic Paradox

Rhythm falls clumsily
in tandem with beating
Like a staggering drunk
or thought lost to dementia
It’s going somewhere
but doesn’t remember why
Everyone staring isn’t helping
especially their pity
All fools, they wouldn’t be sorry
if they new the truth
That’s why lies come easy
they’re reasons not shows
We’ve all fooled ourselves
it’s all about appearances now
And this doesn’t look nice
caught with my panties down
Scuffed up knees, messy hair
of course I’m dressed a whore
A bit of corporate cum drips
before I can lick it off my lips
Don’t know why I want more
addicted to the convenient shame
Calling everyone a prostitute
while I mark my next John
Picking out the lace trappings
for my dungeon torture room
Whipping my own back bloody
’cause no one can do it like I do
None of us ever quite punished
before we’re poisoned with apathy
Why should we care if we’re doomed
if there’s nothing beyond this consuming
Yet beyond beyond, and beyond that still
there is, if we let be, meaning
What we make of anything can only be
what we are willing to make of ourselves

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