Gas Station
Author: Diaos


Outlooks change without consulting reality,
And no reference objects make sense.
The inner ear canal shakes its head,
And those sick, sick games can now commence.

A tug-of-war with an elastic band
An emotional junkyard raid.
When the dogs are set to kill,
The smiles begin to fade.
It's excessively without reason,
I don't like what it brings.
A Rock paper scissors game
With arbitrary little things.

Something evil is at hand,
And it only ceases when I do the same.
Evil, a silly notion,
With only shadows to blame.


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