this curve shall be straight again

the cynical nature of your philosophies
makes a cylindrical mess of my parallel
my ideas begin to wane
nobody would take the blame
like droplets of rain
you fill my emptiness with your bane

to please you is now my chore
i hide behind your big picture
myself, my worth, that once was scripture
but by your philosophies, made impure,
all of it, i’m shedding off

acquiring your genuine superficial
if only you know, you’re building a missile
that will send you into exile
out there were oblivion thrive
by the ...