i have devoured thousands of lies ...
 spit their seeds of disfigurement onto the cold, black street
to linger among the rancid odor of loneliness -
to grow stale in the dampness - 

and die.  

on nights like this...
when the demands of humanity cling to my skin
like transparent traces of nocturnal spider webs,
i fall into my own abyss of unspokenness -

to water my own vine of betrayal.

liquid trickles across the leaves of false image ...
cleansing the masks i wear when my soul wants to hide -
nourishing the tiny buds of indiscriminate significance -
awakening the soil of reidentification - 

my own composition. 

 the vine will evolve in discernible increments ...
but only my eyes are equipped to see such changes -
to ascertain the slight shifts in consciousness -
to occupy that rancid street and still feel alive - 

to resist and not cease... 

to exist.