Four and Twenty Blackbirds

We are at a , wossname, impasse.
Our ability to communicate has faltered.
The fire alarms ring, and drive what thoughts could creep in, out.
This is not poetry, it's frustration.
Moments of blank despair, where when the reflection falls the image is bare.
Ha!
We fight invisible ghosts, and praise invisible hands.
We are split, united, tied, entwined, divine.
So childish, so lost.
Speak, dammit, say your piece and be done with it.
Nothing really matters, a song, a line, a fact.
We are, now, entranced by our own inability to entrance.
For a moment of blockade, vanity was suggested.
We are not blocked, not empty but congested.
Speak not of work, not jobs nor exams, but speak not of them and there is nought to speak of.
Why?
How are you?
Don't ask, if there is nothing more to say.
Keep thy head above the water, it shall all pass.
Of what use are we, when there is no audience.
Of what good are we, when there is no cause.
Of what... phaw.
I know why we blog.
From the shadows before I'm stifled I can tell you.
Because we need to get out.
Tear the flesh and be one with the void.
He lies.
It's not that, it's for our sanity.
Yes, Precioussssssssssssss.
We are no better.
We are mortal.
We are, what we are, but of that there are others.
So harsh, ah, so harsh, so true.
Oysters, pearls, grains of sand.
Macabre thoughts and blood on walls.
Token genius, be our fall.
There is no aim, no dream for us.
A trodden path we see always.
Run away, and it's been done.
We are an individuality.
We are unique.
And we have, for thy envy, no more remorse.
Fear, yes.
Pity, perhaps.
But the end, the glorious end, we want it not.
For we live in hope.
There is something there, that when we meet.
Shall fill the grave with no body beneath.
Till then, help them smile.
Cheese, say, flash, print.
It hurts us.
I want...

Oh buggerit buggerit buggerit.
Give the world an enema.
Relish, mallevolence.
Ah-Ha-ha
How long can we balance the scales, hmmmmmmmmm.
Say it, judge me, and be your own undoing.