monotonous conversational merry-go-round
everyone's pretense and pretend,
bag and bicker, cough and cry in the dark
and light of leperous pop culture gods
while the hastily erected idols of dollar and cunt crumble
flashing edges of a non-life over-lived
the rumble in the dark
is not you or me,
they say all lovers need distance, and i love you even in my heart of darkness,
even in my house of pain.
i love you, my false society.
my harlequin world.
world that still has not looked up to see if there are stars,
as it is too busy trying to become one.
world. totally oblivious.
the pavement and old gargoyles
with eyes and faces and nothing human
I write this to them
they are the darkness watchers now.
they've seen the real you.