artificial love holds the world in its palms,
and i have a heart too frail to dare to be alive anymore
it beats simply of electricity and impulses, nary a care for feeling
cavernous gaping and empty,
abandoned home left for ivy to grow
cover it up, brick to rust, but sturdy as a storm,
the fortress stays.
it's a wasteland in here,
and why shouldn't it be;
the world around is fickle and feeble,
like a forest to the ground razed,
ashen and barren evermore;
loneliness lurks in every corner;
predators sharpen their teeth and whet their appetites on every morsel
desperate for a shred of something that appears to be love;
but it's aspartame and sucralose;
and i'd gladly take kerosene to the grave,
and let my bones burn,
to hell and back, but hell is
already here, transposed over this whatever-we're-living-in,
and so in reality i never left,
and i'm just sinking, quicksand assassin,
and with razor lips i smile, broken blades dripping
like all the pain in my chest cavity, a plague of swirling insanity;
little fool, oh fool you,
pennies were never made for tossing,
and hearts never for loving;
we're all walking hollow husks, devoid of anything concrete,
just trying to dog-eat-dog it, eyes on everyone slipping, unseeing, pretending
like love could somehow exist
in a landscape carved of extinction and misery
