the struggle
to release my fears
from shackled shrills
of obscene silence
pulling further
down with every second
thought since spent
vile undertows
that know me well
spell out this hell
in heavy throes
below
where phantom prose
commiserates lament
each word
wafts ever wayward
in dissociative dimensions
obscured by the illusion
borne of urgency
forgone
enthralled by conscious calls
of a conspicuous collusion
that subdivide the lies
my conscience cries
to stay afloat
that i require
the fundamental sating
trapped in spurned epistles
e’er belies
what blissfully denies
my ignorance
which writhes on
muted shores
secluded
hopelessly exiled
as i succumb
to numbness
of my solitude’s descent
Max, or Not 