Life is
fake,
life is
real,
life:
a concept,
thoughtless spiel.
Flesh bag, flesh sag,
stitched to fragile bone,
jelly eyes
suck the light,
as brain
devours the whole.
Gibbered lips,
cast to the air
the only tale they're told,
a truth, a truth,
that casts no light
beyond it's owners trail.
as curtain falls,
night takes its bow,
and words, they fade away.
a history, cast out of sight,
henceforth to be unknown.
Christopher Withers
http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/life-is-82/
