Melancholy.

There isn’t much to be delivered; only much to receive

At least, that’s the prescription you’ve taken that’s lead up to this belief

A drug that wraps its mechanical fingers around everything it touches

and chokes out the existence between the cracks of authenticity and disbelief

Retreat from this hallucinatory hologram found within the screens of a false reality



Tweets to make you think that your pride is discrete

Tweets to make you think that this sour piquancy actually tastes sweet


Tweets to make you think that this offbeat melancholy of deceit


is actually an upbeat conversation piece that can reheat the deceased



And I’m tired of all these tweets. 

I’m tired of all these tweets




Take your lifeless poetry somewhere else and actually try to defeat the disease


Instead of spreading it like like butter between the machine and what you think you believe


You’re indeed forming a contravene regime who won’t succeed against the supreme technique


Of an adversary that sends you on an internecine dissension


between what is dismal and what is unique




There isn’t much to be delivered; only much to receive


At least, that’s the prescription I’ve taken that’s lead up to my belief

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