Diseased Catharsis

There’s confession in these words
That spill out from the previous creation,
Mumbling together in a bumbling catharsis.
Where beauteous expression is a smokescreen
For discontent so profound it poisons the well.
Fingers will keep punching the keys in mute frustration,
Secretly expressing their agony in letters coalescence,
Each resounding pound echoes the sorrowful writer soul.
Thoughts continue spilling out, uncatchable in their evanescence,
Streams of thought blending into current expository diatribes-
The imagery’s bleak, too weak to sustain the seed that furnishes the need.
More and more form is becoming a prison cell that asphyxiates the will,
Structure is deconstructing in its amorphous maxims of reason.
Backwards flows sense, when words meant the truth in print,
Instead lying has adjusted quite well to written form,
Plaguing each and every attempt to exorcize malediction
With the fun-house mirror of warped reality.
Language wears the mantle of distortion,
Succumbing to the slavery of the mind controlling toil.
For each and every turn that uses these letters, they exact their toll,
Displaying the basest truth of stark reality,
Like all things showing the wear of dishonesty’s contagion.