Living in Patterns

Living in Peccadilloes

Here you exist
in small peccadillo
disbursed through eyes
blind to scene
and reason.

Your servants are paynims
and you remain slaves forever,
sit snugly in musings and furies
between failure and defeat.

Here you make straight patterns
carve out fading memories
of living in distress
when heart beatings

call for undue stress.

Living in Distrust

You suspect that you live,
it is living nay existing
in straight patterns
without a soul,
waiting for an epitasis.

You realize a crude method
without thought,
a baseless prurience
without an object,
a protracted screaming
without a voice,
living continues to grunt
as an individual is crushed
for social security
and a soul is stifled.

Here you know
a man’s innocence is scarified
for chemical convenience,
and you enjoy
without a smile.

Physiology is darkly trained
to suit lusty advances,
to lavish scenes with incidents,
and lengthened out reasons
for truths de-sanctified
without an escape.

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