for some reason i wanted to write a sestina. gibberish.

[emptyvisions]

somehow we always want somone to save
us from the mess of ourselves
from the swirling coil of unattainable
mind. ridiculous quandry pretending
to be forever decently dressed
adequately assessed in faux harmony.

singing to the night in reckless harmony
and in the end with nothing of us to save
we prance about, delicately satin dressed
and as they come ahorde we breach ourselves
the gleaming night is of apes pretending
to love, keeping the gleam unattainable

and yet in this night unattainable
the seeping vision of whorish harmony
begs to be a dream pretending
to be nightmare, in order to save
shredded decencies, or else ourselves
from despair as normalcy dressed.

and as we so appropriately dressed
we sink into the hope of unnattainable
passions of movies, unlike ourselves
who reek of mediocre harmony.
left with nothing of the spark to save
we stagger, drunken, to love pretending.

Love as night, as day, as life pretending.
and when you are for sex so dressed
that you couldnt breathe yourself to save
everything right in death, unnattainable
fortune down your spine gasps harmony
in ecstatic renewal of ourselves,

and we breathe, again, within ourselves
no more sex-induced pretending
we begin to seek, begin to know a harmony
as we are for life triumphant dressed
we know ourselves as the unnattainable
the naturally concrete, nothing to save.

pretending to be as stars so dressed
to become ourselves unnattainable
and yet in harmony, nothing to save.