in this blissful state of mire
where moments bear no relevance
faces melting into glass
surround a wasted spectacle
prohibited by our own breath
injected into effigies
and futures forged of artifice
consisting of the latest whim
long before our hearts retired
hammered out then shaped as halos
hung upon our hollow heads
bled into beds of hallowed lies
history deemed too constricting
blinded by depraved depictions
consciously we all gave way
and paved a fiction for repentance
newly justified and sanctioned
all the world our lone domain
demonizing contrariety
canonizing our disgrace
holy ghost of ghastly order
horological-bound haste
sow the human soul as seeds
to sate rapacious urge for reaping
vomiting up TV dinners
servile sinners stationed neatly
flaunting on a weekly basis
weakness weened on heaven’s haunting
douse thyself with waters holy
plights resigned to indignation
seeking out a plot of safety
ushered toward a garish sky
bound to ends found superficial
streets of gold so grim and gaudy
all our dreams for naught we suffered
foolish serfs left suffocating
lining pockets stitched to perverts
torment of eternal writhing
echoing the shrillest laughter
hailing from our fate’s creator
sacrifice of sacred squander
this, the price of acquiescence
[image credit: Sadequain]
Max, or Not 