Finding emptiness the cure for social suicide.
No longer dead . . . just unalive.
Vibration tickling the fancy of the unaware . . .
Those encased in materials petrify themselves daily,
Implosion imminent.

For love of money and intoxication join forces
Until the supply meets demand head on.
The collision felt, feeding on itself.
Recycle your plans, mistrust guides you down.

Deep and wide the cavernous mouth swallows deceit,
Seven fold the return.
My color changes but my resolve and my honor stand firm.

The body heals as the spirit's structure weakens.
Praise changes shapes but remains the same.
As hard as I try and as deep as I dig for a name that holds more
Than distant memories of discomfort,
I climb out of my grave, dirty and empty . . .
More weary for the soul wearing thin.

My hunger for humanity subsides, I follow my softer side to
Familiar solitude.
An old hag who suffices when no other diversion is found.
Gauge this popularity obsolete until vice is supplied for free.

Deep and wide the cavernous mouth swallows deceit,
Seven fold the return.
My color changes but my resolve and my honor stand firm.

Until my gaps are filled with dollar signs, my destiny . . .
Singularity.