Responsibilities procured,

Among the young and vapid,

Who have nebulous and righteous cures,

But don’t believe in action,

They need a dupe,

(at least a few)

So speciously they can present,

The things that they will see to do,

After what happens next for them,

Heresy they speak of!

Conformity they live!

Clandestinely they reach for the normalcy they risk!

I raise my makeshift truncheon,

At the luncheon they sit,

As I beat myself,

I’m loving it,

And I don’t know what that is,

Stridently I do deride,

Among the leaden bleats,

Ipso facto I survive,

To cry myself to deadened sleep,

Regret is cheap and odious,

Poetic justice will prevail,

If not there are still opiates,

But in comparison I pale,

The amalgam of fear and loathing,

Encumbers what I’m here to do,

From inside this stratum stroking,

I won’t get to splay the juice,

Once, I knew–

After three times it was for certain,

I threw up all sense of consequence,

Toward my iron curtains,

Declared rude because of truth,

The blame escapes the holy churches,

Only outside can one find proof,

And real thought is worth its searches.