the dichotomous
fracture in
parading every flaw
accentuating the
fluctuating poles
fully nude
with only
lowercase in
which to scream
and making excuses
to not step outside
to do the simplest
things for fear of
being seen
is my tragedy of self

even at their most
superfluous surrealism
the words are all
that make sense
even when they don’t
the intensity inherent
in everything is
too much to sift through
and binding it into
semipoeticinsolence
locks the chaos into
a crystalline dissent
where seething incongruencies
shimmer unsubstantially
forming faded facades
for future failures