Being a Critic

Upon each wingéd criticism float hollow sadness extending infinite within, devouring seeming core of self eroded, still suspended in earthly bondage. Fading memory of touch recede upon advancement brutal evolving ever; realized fate is cackling silly, madly high with power-drunk rage. Blooming subliminal constancy tunnel erect ineffable shapeless love, gaspy-breathed beings in ecstatic wonder expand of origin uncertain. Arrogance of contrived re-creation, smug with sick-stomach insecurity, destined to repeat of different tongue each rotten sweet revelation made. Of cyclic pulsation never-ending emanate comedic drama absurd of man: self-created, self-fulfilling ever-spinning meaningless noise of chaos-brain. What lacked beginning cannot end, though subtle seems to coarse minded ones who ever-screaming sucked back through space-time flaunt in self-affirming agony.