there is always an end to it

is there a sin

a lie to the outside

so vulgar and so destructive

an autobiography, a self-portrait

so elaborate and fanciful

that the self, the core begins to believe

in it’s own falsehood

shuffling vanity and disillusion

a wretch painted pink and dressed in silk

is still nothing but a well-dressed miscreant

a joke of society and a waste of it all

to hold on to a life full of lies and fantasies

nothing real or sustainable

it’s just a waste of energy

and energy is running low

the science of madness

allowing the fool to believe

she is a blessing

to walk with a head held high

and spew and spout stupidity

while those maintaining apathy and disgust

wear the mask of kin and lovers

the honest and the brave carrying banners

are painted as traitors to keep the facade

there comes a sudden epiphany

a voice from beyond all seen and understood

a judgement, a reckoning of self

when it is time to put the costumes away

and allow rest to set in deeply

the count-down sealed and guaranteed

728 and walking backwards


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