Rock & Boulders (Eureka!) Poem by Patience

See, the thing with you is, you bundle all your truth into a little ball,
all light and fuzzy, sealed tight.
You dip this ball in a fertile pile of stinking bullcrap, which sticks like hired protection.
You then cloak this firm and obvious sphere of rubbish, (with it's core of truth) , in a thin veil of honesty,
before again rolling it, in steaming, delectable deception.
And then, battered in the remaining crumbs you saved from a now diffuse sense of reality,
you elegantly pitch this curve-ball of perjury,
at the hole in my head.

I duck and weave,
but I'm struck out, effortlessly.
The puck has long outgrown the basket.
So it knocks me senseless and skittles away.
My broken brain rattles in its cage,
every time.

We're escalating retrograde.

All shaken, but purposeful, if a little disoriented,
there I go!
Skipping off dementedly, like Snow White on acid, to fetch your boulder and dismantle it.
Delicately peeling back each sticky layer of compost with bare hands.
Once reassuring, these hands.
Now they're brittle, corrosion.

Sifting through bacteria, un-gloved.
Swelling like a pan-miner who struck gold, should I discover an ounce of reality, that you yourself have managed to perceive,
but which is only here to be found (Eureka!) ,
because it was bundled up flukily,
in this projectile of faux dogma you composed for your own self-worship.

Sex n drugs, don't make you rock n roll.
You think you're the devil, but the true devil got your soul.