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Discord and Desperation

Frustration mounts slowly, reaching an eventual crescendo,
a din that fills the mind,
an orchestra playing notes of discord,
clamoring to drive one mad, demanding to be heard,
music of pure desperation,
consciousness gripping, attention held,
bound to the sounds of insanity,
while begging futiley to be freed.
The instruments of destruction grow mockingly louder,
a Chinese fingertrap that grows tighter as one struggles against it,
until all circulation is cut off and that which is ensnared withers and dies.
A man surrounded by friends,
bitter at the world,
resentful of those who mean him no harm,
yet manage to tear at his essence,
taking pieces of him,
bit by bit,
until there is nothing left but the parts that no one wants,
that which has been buried underneath from conception,
the qualities even the man himself was unaware of,
the wretched, vile misgivings best left forgotten,
doomed to bob just under the surface,
the flotsam of a life wasted on quiet desperation,
vaporized and inhaled for a moment of euphoria.

14 Feb 07

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(4 more poems by this author)

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