The Cockroach


These mornings of fog pave way for utter dismay.
His armored spine, twig-like legs,
desperately wriggle and turn so to see the light of day

where expectations are frivolous and goals are set high. Eat away at your
shortcomings; it won’t be denied
many men have tried, for bearing said fruit is anything but benign.

Calls from the outside are but an allusion to fantasy and falsehoods. O’ may
your shell be fragile under pain, strong when it is responsible
enough to scar away, be it by gash or to be bludgeoned.

Calls from the outside are but an allusion to fantasy and falsehoods. Keep
retreating to thy nest, crawl out again towards freedom.

Reality seeps deeply while he lay in the dark, you’ve seen these fleeting moments
all lead to despair; however
throughout each instance, he remains.

Obligation is what many would call it, to remain
to swallow the unwanted thoughts
to cower behind
to quiver
in silence; for that is how it has been, and so shall it remain.

Animalistic to indulge in growth,
or risk decomposition
for it is but your nature to grow

to destroy what many hold dear, chip and shatter terrain. Conquer what little
you can; unleashed terminids unto you will all the worst terminate you.
How quiet you’ve become, how quite have you remained?

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