Just like a sore that wouldn’t heal,
Contentiously secreting contaminant puss,
He surges through the vessels of that heart,
Invading every space and eliminating the welcome,
Taking charge of a kingdom he has no right visiting..
All efforts to excommunicate become futile.
It is as though a siege occurred in a moment of forgotten relapse.
Then in surrender, thoughts of adjustments are birthed.
But this reign will tolerate no communion.
What shall then be done?
Torn between the "Upside Down" worlds,
With attempts at whisking the oil and water that will not merge;
Living neither there and nowhere nor here and somewhere.
On this rule that leans over life-length,
The bitter-sweet-sour merry-go-round that spins the world into a blur;
How shall I settle?
Indeed, doomed it seems I have become
