Farce's Lament [poetry of a drunken conspiracy theorist]

Fractured, splintered, monopolised world
Unfurls it's coming detention
Ghosts of the horrors to come haunt the present moment
To farce and back
We share a fragment of the terror

Drop a coin into the well

They laugh in fabricated contentment
We wait
We partake in the pleasures of the moment to forget the obscene
And listen
And agree
We talk
We partake
We talk harder and more succinctly
We talk more vigorously with passion and artifice in the fearful predilection our beliefs may be tangible
We argue
I argue.
It's agreed
Some things are inarguable

Morning comes and washes away the shards of potential truth
Banished again by the reutterance of the ubiquitous blaring noise
The grey noise, too tainted to be white
Yet too muddy to be wrong

Battering and berating the senses into submission

It can't be, the cacophony wills it.