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The Human Affliction
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may Without moral sense or self pity
He takes out all his anger on his self
Bashing at with rage
His cage and his brain
Drowning all of his pain
Away with proof upon proof after proof
What a waste of space
His family's disgrace
The one they wonder of along the power lines
And bring up as table talk
He breaks away gallantly from time and from space
Latching on to the nearest table with his hands by his face
With his soul in his palms
As tears cried out of time
With his beat to the rhythm
Of his master design
He is bent on the truth
In a mood swing of acceptance
That will accept his ascension to
A status less mentioned
Self righteousness tugging at the back of his coat
But the devil himself he throws away down his throat
