Ex-Terminate

Perfection sweeps its rage to No Faces in Cyberspace. You expected me to lie as hollow as the first, but when I was edited and revised I Pressed Devouring.

Call me what you want, it all comes spilling out of your truth and its negating songs. Then I only mask you and expect your rust, that heap within. By hiding in corners, I've saved my self. With black-eyed tears that drip with Life's brutality, aren't you hiding too? Your parts understand me- fiction has no form. I'm Supposed on a page-splash, yet I do not touch what I do with cruelty.

But you're still President, second-guessing every time, but we both know you. But a love of nettle-new songs leads only into briars. Into a mire of petals, clutching an empty posture, incessantly released to the wind.

With each and every drop of Life Blood, I wonder why all this is still under the carpet? Amongst the dust and the spiders, I have not begun to respect you but I can stand proud. For all your Not-See, I still drew away, with each step clearing a path out of the black flood and leading into the Blue. I only truly saw you when I saw your Faceless Story upon the floor, begging you to¦

But it's not my place. Is it all I could do, I wonder? How Wrong it can all be.

In a new guise you howl your doings, now you've another "you, another "look. I pity you. The Ultimate. The Last. Telling your story in the old role of Conceited and Subjective, but it cannot be maintained.

New Player Wanted- I've been five years too familiar already. I'll take your Was Not Pleasant happily and walk away.

Celebrity hides and lurks on, still asking not to be seen.