Seen the error of my waves --
A parallelogram tipped on its side,
A sweat shop of soulmates --
A mask of a ghost in a bottle of lies

Simulated orbit:
Coming back around every few years
To steal this gravity
This atmosphere
These minerals, this blood,
And paper -- so much paper --

There are better targets on the horizon,
Better ways to waste away --
This Rubik's Relationship has no solution,
The blue squares cannot be found today

How many times
Have I saved you from yourself,
From the things you do
To yourself (and again) --
And for what purpose?
A circle: repetitious and bland

Your answers will lie elsewhere,
The realm of the marginally sane
And you'll abandon every one of them --
Your joy is built on inflicting pain.

Robbed of rubber tipped protectors, insanity breeds nasty greed upon which stagnation feeds trapped in muck no hero wishes to pluck.


Sorry rambling thoughts - still don't feel better do ya, Lex. Well written, your's that is, lol!