The futillity of charity.

Criminals and sleeves cover tracks like tatoos. dark strokes of ejaculated ink destroying pigment with poison to conceal my weakness. a loud stutter to devert attention from verse to matter laying focus on the comedy of tragedy. easily distracted by the suffering of others. the evolution of entertainment the loss of innocence. palms on my shoulders, a giving smile, crowded reflections connect the years with moments of longing and not regret. I don't remember the start of demise. but the slopes slant was so long with vertical obstacles I gave in to my exhaustion and embraced my cynicism. maybe it's convenient to lose recollection to to affirm my criticism. but that arrogence serves only me. tailored poetry in dress and posture with no room for an audience beside my ego.