Mantras of Redundancy

Seth H. Monroe



I’d kill myself if I had any sympathy for those around me. I’d surely call it quits for one drink enjoyed entirely in mumbling silence. These words resonate loudly and for some time. Lines are chalked with sands of the time piece. I’ve half a mind to not concern myself with this matter. My point of view is out of touch. My Karma is exhausted. I try to be frank while the rest of the world recites sound bites. Typecast latter day taints brown nosing to declaratory nasal passages breathe deepest. Ask of me to utter the redundant mantras and I’ll repeat songs of jealousy under zealous breath. My selfish debt is payable by laughter forever after the unfinished works which I’ll never master so long as someone mistakenly takes my patience in jest. I tried to hoard a portion since my contortions have me bent over backwards.