—paradoxical stitchings, patchwork
ideologies worn like clothes,
schisms running deep as my soul
—who is my narrator?—
is it God? is it me? is it
my ideologies—who knows?
—scientific nihilism generating
Cynicism while my faith converts
me to Idealism leaving me
with, hopefully, a healthy Realism
—Cynic, Realist, Idealist—
the three heads of my parody Trinity,
all three the unholy Godhead of
my Narcissicism
—my loyalty runs too strong,
driven by Kant’s moral imperative,
iterations like broken records
on repeat—but look through my
soul’s windows and see how honest
I truly am—
—gray areas choke me
like water filling my lungs,
what do I believe and
does it matter—
both sides screaming like children,
“I’m right, you’re wrong!” sung like
the chorus of a pop song, name-
calling becoming the thesis of
our arguments
—what happened
to honesty—to loyalty—to
us—to faith—to family
—to everything the light
touches
—postmodernism becomes the
mouthpiece of Life itself,
Narrative breaking apart into
labyrinthine corridors—maze-like
trenches that suck us further into
the swirling Chaos of—
our lives lived out
like Pynchon characters driven
by Greed, History, Lust, Fornication,
Death, Fear, and Selfishness
—new Seven Sins leading
to inevitable—
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