Self-Imposed

Edge of madness,

edge of life,

infinite need,

stronger than any guidance

from your heart.

first impressions are correct

From dire impulse

and bottomless desire

you have made

a fine creation

with cardboard,

paste,

and glitter,

precise in all calculations

except the one that measures

the distance
of your heart
from your soul.

you cannot seek on the outside

what emits from within

Each new hit of validation

leaves you hungrier than before,

but you cannot stop;
the rhythm of this dance must go on,

even though late at night

the whisperings of invisible angels

remind you of what you cannot be.

Turn away and laugh.
Affix your mask just so.

Too many omissions leave us blind,

so kneel and pray

for salvation

from yourself.

This was written for The Sunday Whirl.