Funk

I cannot allow the funk to steal my soul ever again

It is a liar

A carpet-baggar

A cheat

It is powerless until you give in, which is not at all hard to do

I can see why so many live out their existences in a state of utter ruin

Screwing themselves into toxic oblivion for the surrounding world to relate to and reflect upon

Everyone acts as if they are abused, or at least like they are all picked on

They have created their temples which eat their reactions and, although solitude is really the only antidote, they still insist upon making themselves the main attraction

Fools, drooling guilt down upon their blouses

Stuck

Capsized

Marooned

Living in houses built out of sarcastic steel

They cannot describe in words the anguish that they feel

They lash out, victimizing the innocence that they have disclaimed as their own

They even have the gaul to question or wonder why their many mood swings are not ever condoned as they would like them all to be

Even if they were to free themselves instantaneously, the domino effect has by then already been set forth into solidified action

To try and barricade the fall will only create a havoc even worse than dealing  with themselves

The injuries upon victims that never did anything but show them their concern

Their bridges back hone, burned down to a pile of ashes that will not endure the weight of their bodies

So, then they are then forced out of them to swarm in the chasm between here and Summerland

Ghosts haunt their points of departure, clinging onto the angst of self-pitying finality

Grief is abandoned

Misunderstood, their new existences are rendered senseless

They are left with no other choice but to stand as witnesses to the mind-boggling confusion that they have burdened others with

When we are in a funk, we often tend to take the miracle of life for granted

The disenchanted illusions that the darkness enjoys.....

9/16/2007