I am I know
A decomposition of faith
I don’t think salvation is ever coming, or that it’s ever to fall into my lap circuitously, it’s fallen into those laps that are the most morally depraved and perverted, but not mine, never mine, I was made to resist in a pathetic state of stagnancy, to the point where it’s as futile as an ant crawling around the marbled edges of a dining table with a stubble of rice stuck to the tablemats. I’m sick of prodding myself with optimism that the world, or life has an evergreen sense of moral duty towards the wronged and the pained, like me, instead of beauty and female rage, like the one disturbingly simplistic crap my words are, the world’s either gone mad or I’ve officially descended, my grandparents don’t remember me in their deathly slumber, not one dream transmission message, not one visit, not one feather balancing on the rims of a tea cup like the contortions of a circus worker, but everyone’s allowed to wallow, everyone’s allowed to distract with the indulgence of the demented, when I do it it’s maddeningly naive, cause I’d just curdle life for myself. I’m tired of the undeserving, I wish they’d topple over as they will eventually, I’m sick of writing this and pretending I care about the cerebral immaturity of the algorithm, knowing this will never be seen or heard, and even when it is like I wanted it to, it would be too late, too inferior, too rusted, too much like a missed opportunity, cause there’s no genius here.
