He formulated a delicate scheme,
So that he could obtain vital funds
From gullible, if friendly virtual persons
And spend his life in idle, useless pastimes.
In his egregious vanity, he concocted stories.
Thus, he would meditate on pulling strings
Of his listeners' consciences.
Insane in his delirium, he would meditate
His famous tales read newspapers for inspiration,
Send messages to all he judged to be ripe
For a monetary gift to help assuage his need:
Alas, not many took the bait.
Occasionally, someone would send
A miserable donation. Until he found
His haven in an old kindly woman who felt pity
And send him a thousand-dollar gift.
Profound words of thanks ensued.
He was courteous hoping to get more,
Inventing a lack of funds to rent his home.
FICTION?
Inside the darkness
So dark that the strewn bodies and bones of light cound not penetrate its depth
Life cowers behind the facade of intention
Not born
I invented myself
Living in this prison world
All of us unrepentent and claiming our own innocence
I spit in the face of the person i pretend to be
and weep for the one unseen
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