Tuesday, March 15, 2011

Recursive

Empty, maudlin, so joylessly exalted
Tiptoed, tepid, around these words so vapid.

What are we supposed to say?
Just who am I today?

Syllables dripping from the faucets
Fixed upon the leaks in our eye sockets

Feedback ringing through the walls
Fed again, repeat their call
Reverberating through the halls
Live a life you won’t recall

A circle of mirrors, staring vacantly inward.
The tragedy of infinity lacking a center.

Consonants all falling down
In seas of sighs the meanings drown

You’ll see…
Formalities, pleasantries
Prove our vacuity
Enmity underlines our insincerity

Everything, anything you’ve ever heard is the
Emptiest heir of the emptiest words.

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