deepundergroundpoetry.com
how to make gold from excreta
okay it has been done to death
overused overhyped overdone
a recurring cliche that is the theme
of a million movies a billion books
a zillion poems
forcibly made to evolve into
a trillion different things
all trash if at all anything
truth is
only a chosen few experience it
in its purest essence
the rest just pretend
melodramatic and drab they drag
sleepwalk bump cross copulate
populate grow indifferent
cheat hit dump cry
get rid of chase perish
end
their
lives
by
popping pills diving or driving
off cliffs or into traffic
believing that
the four lettered word
took its toll
claimed another victim
unsuccessfully
knowing it all
too well deep down
that
everything
was a
miserable lie
that no polygraph
could capture
cause everything
starts as a lie
even love
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