Songs of guilt and naiveté

William Blake isn't a bad dude to riff off of, methinks. Because I've got nothing else today - you know, this is rapidly becoming a disturbing theme - here's a piece of junk I wrote once upon a year. Blake was aiming for profound. I was aiming to poetically bitch my default state of cynicism.

Sure, I set the bar six feet under, but I think we were both successful.
I easily cleared five-and-a-half.


All distortions are one

Go on and cry, voices -
everything’s quite been laid out before us.
I speak from experience.
Angels or devils, no matter - the spirit
generates inception.
Intention remains ever the same
and fills in the cracks where need be, usually pretty deep.
You and I have been here often before,

so walk outside, shut and lock the door, and get lost.

You’ve brewed a solution that tastes bitter!
I’ll just drink what’s now on this table.
Same as it ever was, Roman, American, asshole,
lend me your invention.
I have a perception it’s not much better than mine.