Comedy Of The Absurd
How I loathe what I am!
If these hostile emotions continue,
I'm afraid I'll be devoured in it's next meal.
So on the caps of my knees, I beg:
Won't a spark of life enter to awaken what is
Decomposing in death?
Or will the insatiable serpent Ouroboros claim me for self-destructive reincarnations?
I look at the fresh image in the mirror and wonder
why these violent pangs even occur;
My face is bright, my eyes alive, and I see an ostensible robustness in my youth.
But how falsely indicative are mirrors and thirsty eyes!
Is it the rest of the world or me that
lives extrinsically but is slowly rotting beneath?
No new friendships occur,
No nodding heads concur.
Only the coldness of darkness, void, and chaos
run amok in this comedy of the absurd.
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