Frustration

Strange pleasure’s found

dismantling content;

in jumbling precise;

so stable bricks of

structured life become

just, so much trash;

spiked with shards

of rogue cement;

the hardness in the face

that could believe in sympathy

but all it finds is lavish

disregard in others’ eyes;

because those eyes don’t show,

what they don’t know, that

they don’t know, they

do not know; but make

gut-clenching & eye-slitting &

mouth-setting & soul-ripping

into clichés, strong enough

to fill an empty bitterness

that always yawns.