The aliment was neither ready nor fresh
it was cureless to wait with quasi-aching
disengaging the limit to madness from liberation
however the time was boundless
aligned to the accepting force
where antagonism is not the other side of fairness
there was a toxic malfunction making the grounds weary
of stepping being unbecoming
accompanied by peculiar spirituality
taking response to disconnected discipline
the story was invalid and inevitable
I tried to sit through the ordeal of wanting and needing,
the table projecting the ineptness of its uselessness
but the living remorse was greater than the disposition
then my generation went foul.
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