The grand dimensions of human existence
hardly hold weight in comparison to my tortured misconceptions
A spirit of susceptibility
turns rusty, mechanical grinds in
my grotesque mind
destroying cobwebs which illustrate absence
determining rebirth and right thinking-
but where do I shine this newly polished machinery
when coincidence results in consequence
and has begun to resemble a wrecking ball?
Love does not play around with destruction and
being out of my life promotes existence
primarily in the trash receptical
With that, I concur:
I will not thrive on indifference between my wrecking ball and my reckless pride.
Pride is the paramount sin defining Lucifer’s fall, not something to admire or long for- at all.