Archive
12/04/08 - (2)
The Cesspool
How does such a once-vibrant, enchanting man, With such a grandiose plan for conquering life, Find himself digging out from under the toxic crud Of his turbid mind's cesspool — That odoriferous pit into which his world has drained?
Don't ask him; don't ask me, either, his surrogate, His pro bono advocate, Who, in truth, can only tell you that I don't have a clue. What a Renaissance man was he, With so seemingly holistic a view of other people's troubles.
The problem is, apparently, from all I can gather, By trolling omniscient search engines, Interviewing his scattered family and friends, He possessed an overwhelming underabundance of self-esteem, An even greater, flagrant deprivation of ego,
Which, when coupled with his addiction to codependence, Rendered his fragile, vulnerable, frangible psyche Susceptible to the first female — the first person, really — Who'd show him the slightest attention, even if conditional, Calculated to take advantage of his good nature.
Tonight, I consult with my client, my pariah self, Ask him/me what we might do, to relieve our pain, Assist ourselves, in rising to the turbid surface Of the cesspool below which, during the past five years, Our soul has sunk, so that we might conquer life, together.
12/04/08 - (2)
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