Something always masquerades

The view

It can’t be helped or run

Thought thoughts over you

Guilty pleasures sewn undone

Like a backhanded tailor 

Minus the luck or fun

A state of mimicry; interludes

Who am I to question this?

Euphoria spills splatters

Red, black, and blue

Senseless of perpetuity

On our morals we piss

We calibrate others; quite pedestrian

And somehow bemuse the ruse within

An anectode of fearless judgement begins

“Let him take the fall”, Karma’s ambience 

Its an angel out of hell, they said

What’s an oxymoron to depth, reject?

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