Is when the world plays
a god on themselves and
Covers itself in the names of others
as a disguise for their own.
It pours out all our subconscious
into a mass sewage system
Where all thoughts eventually
reach the social sea.
Here, one can no longer see individuality
For the Mind Collective
Can’t keep track of ethos
or pathos or logos
With every unctuous wave, rip-tide,
The heart is broken, the mind is
twisted, and only memories.
No one can tell you what happens to a
bouquet of foxgloves when they hit the ﬂoor.
Imagine they are wet and torn,
but fear the most that they are no more.