My parallax disaster stutters loudly on my conscience. white collar misogynist with a permanent smile. never trust the teeth of a man with black eyes. I have no synergy with my reflection. what dreams may manifest quickly descends past the latitude of my reality into the surreal turbulence of an unstable mind. I’m afraid. I am losing my moral surplus coagulating to the texture of quicksand. being pulled in deeper everyday. numb inside. I wear a beautiful disguise fucking for affection but still feel no peace at climax. I try to hide but the cacophony in my head scrapes the calcium from my bones and I wilt. languishing in my defeat. a vertical deception. the functional dead. interaction is a pendulum. I feel nothing. this is the syntax of my demise. save the eulogy for the living.