Synthetic

Sweet fluffs of aqua and amaranth
poison my palette so pleasantly,
tongue, tingly twisted and tormented
without worry, slightly wondering if it should.

What care have I for cavernous cavities,
or molars that meticulously mash
something which doesn't need to be;
something silently unseen-
not there?

And though I thought about my truth
in the seconds before stratocumulus
dissolves delicately in the bacterio-dome,
which leans on destroying life to live it,
I swished the purple poison

cheek to cheek, coating once clean
gums, with glistening grit left over,
and felt foolish-

foolishly overjoyed at the overabundance
of euphoria this chemically charming
concoction has bestowed upon me
and my bitterly bent beak
that resembles a chicken-scratched C,

fallen sideways onto the street, kicked
until keeled over, who at first wouldn't kneel
to the sharpness of K's legs
who tried to break the dinged and dented
curvature of my bent, weak smile
and almost failed.

When it happened it was humiliating,
hacking away at an already half-hardened heart,
and all at once – hurt;
and hurt, and hurt, and hurt, and hurt...

My broken body became hunched and haggard
until there, in crumbled C's place grew humor
in place of hysteria, and my squall turned to a sob,
and then a snivel, and then
nothing.

And so I feed cynicism with colored cotton,
not for a hungry paunch but a sick one,
a prescription for putridity that only partially passes
the test, in order to forget
feelings of loss and loneliness,
rather than revoke the falseness of human judgment
and valuation,
with sticky-sweet synthetic
six-second delirium,

while northeast of a center field gaze,
are jubilation and mirth

a sight which I do not enjoy
today.


PMO
Edited 12 MAY 2013
Original 25 Sep 2012