Line Cluster

Despite all, we are, I am.
And yet not, but I still am.
Despite, and spite, both the same, both only the cast of an illusion.
Both one, both none, both hidden in plain sight in a revolving delusion.

Cluster of meaninglessness, to shape an empty meaning.
Meaning for nothingness can't be itself nothingness in meaning.
And thus is madness forged and bred in the minds of the weaker.
Thus air, lungs, throat, tongue, and speech is taken from the speaker.

Gambling with possibilities impossible, and dice still rolling.
Grasping for mere façade, drinking lighting and thunder rolling.
Then face the gamble, pull the trigger and blow your brains out.
Screaming rage will do just nothing more than utter a silent shout.

All is lost, all is found, all beyond redemption and salvation.
All is cast in the pit of fire, the primeval chaos, for salvation.
And this chaos shapes the shapely figure which all desire.
And this figure kisses death, breathes poison, and we cannot acquire.

So gather around the world, go round and round, and retching away hope.
Dizziness overtaking the senses, a drug as addictive as hope.
Partake of the truth and add your own lies.
Removing all the masks and waiting until it dies.

Reality is what we make of it, what we shape and twist with our will.
Reality is celerity, haste, speed, and motion, it is the testament and will.
Reality is frozen, perpetually standing still, for the addicts of change.
Reality is plain, boring, unexciting, dull, for the lovers of the strange.

All is lost in the mixing and the end result is a catastrophic clash.
Ingredients for destruction are always tossed about until two clash.
The result is unresolved, unending, and final, yet never real.
Looting souls looking for treasure and the pain is all we steal.

Now for a moment of reflection.
Inexistent in these mirrors my reflection.
A clear view never exists for a complexion.
The only way is forced interpolation.
But we all know that to be false.

Copyright © 2003 Eduardo Bottaro