- Decay -

Oh humble, humble thoughts,
why have I slaved myself into responding to your every antic?
I’ve become a bastard  child to you,
and my kin is your meal,
I listen to your insults,
and take them for gratitude.
I take your repercussion as a sly gesture of impotence in my own state of happiness,
that your negative thoughts,
your dredging double-helix of burning masses is some sort of promotional advertisement paid by my conscience,
my determination, my spirit.