Like an eye for an eye, You're only looking for what you can't see: Some cheap love synaesthetic, Parenthesised by self pity And big words. Bleached sense-thoughts out like lights, Into flat caffeine white, Pregnant with sterility, And age. And all this rhetoric: ubiquitous murmur, scandalous lies, Your unique flavour of catharsis: Choked up like bile, Whenever your lungs fill with pain, Or your eyes fail. But nothing salient, or real, or new, Just big words and white noise, In your quietest voice. Thrust out a sacrifice, a desiccant edifice, Some sort of severance from the rest of religion, Polite retort in the syllables of compound counterclaim, More lies, Eyes for eyes; the kind that'll leave you blind. And reaching your apogee, you drowned in sympathy, You choked on your opiates, And I suppose, I choked on mine. Tenuously, then: An eye for an eye. But fighting fire with fire never stopped the house from burning down.