Vs

General malaise
dystopian texture
pleasuring the haze
gazed @ the abyss
coined the phrase
days.. minutes..
hours.. seconds..
an oppressing premise
boundless by limits
on the fringes
blank spaces
between the edges
tallying the inches
with no images or digits
deliverance of the head
the death of id’s presence
a collage of innocence
and coerced instincts
a savage marriage of force
and inherent contents
constantly colluding
a brooding montage
unsubmissive
repetitive and cyclic
nihilistic feeling fully conscious
dueling the ever ending psyche
of reality and what might be..

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