This place is slowly 

turning into a haven of forgotten words, 

frequented by the desperate who only wish to be heard, 

the life wasted 

trying to make themselves themselves 

and not the manifestation of frequented ideas 

forgotten in their redundance, 

displaced in their arrogance, 

discouraged in their discord.  

Wailing, torpid creatures wishing only 

to be heard just once, 

suffocating in their own skin, 

loving only the fallacy of unity and 

enticed only by the odds stacked against them.  

Struggling for an ill defined and 

perpetually diminishing life to call their own, 

constantly reminded of their relative absence.  

Struggling for an ill defined constant and 

the false return of  plight.  

Is this your art?  

What torpid creatures 

that suffocate in their own skin 

only wishing to pass along 

what they utter as if their mantra, 

their reaction to feeling wretched, 

torpid, clastrophobic 

in their own skin, and that is your art: 

the suffocating ideology never heard.