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Darla Farmer
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The Strangler Fig
The bright ideal illusion
Is spoiled by the dull
And narrow conclusion
The cost of time to toast the sublime
Has become a game and
Apparently it's been feeding the shame
I pace myself
But i run out of breath
The shame is wealth
My pockets overflow
The factories
Are manufacturing
My social death
Two pack of cigarettes
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My face is shown
It's time for my escape
The shame has grown
It's colors paint landscapes
Contemplating
The flaws of my escape
Gratifying
My expanding clarity
Ad hominem
Attack the man
I could face the mirror
But I couldn't blame it either
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