It’s all about “me”

An important question in question

Pretending or genuine wish to discover

it matters little

when I don’t want to uncover “me”.

Thus, I deflect

waxing poetics and practising polemics

to avoid looking straight into the heart of the matter

on the off-chance that I do posses one

despite the fact that the swamp

that swallowed poison, like candy

and tricked and beheaded

its own demons for wicked amusement

pushing away the opportunities for redemption

to see what will happen next

and if the bottom is lower than saints predicted,

consumed the pulse a long time ago

and for years there was none,

allowing the depth of abyss to grow

and consume passions, forcing out

envy, regret, hate, love and even pain

leaving but a still indifferent greyness

that is lazily clutching to moral

which is not respected nor believed in

just for the sake of clinging,

and because there’s nothing else to cling to.

So, philosophy and empty words

to sound mysterious and frivolously witty:

“Me is me.”

 

 

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