Burial of Self Delusion

Solemnity is soporific masturbation
If you haven't the wherewithal to reach inside
and play your fingers 
within the deepest 
entrails of you emotional being 
then you're an actor in a play with too many roles

Get a good handful of viscera
pull it out
and look at what you have

Don't just roll it around
No 
That's for the timid everyday-corpses

Squeeze it
Examine it
Know what you're made of

Then, when you think you have it figured out
put it all back

Wait for it to stew
Wait for it for age more

When you think you've found
A comfortable hiding place
Within everyday complacency
Take it out again

After a while you'll become accustomed

Reaching inside will be rote

This transcends masturbation
This transcends the mindset of the
everyday-corpses

If you fear yourself
you've already lost

Fear is the drug of the masses
Fear keeps creation as a slave

Wait not for the approving eye
of the judge
Own your entrails

When you've found comfort 
in the ephemera and the eternal
And when you've flown your finger high
to all who lie in wait
to lacerate the flesh of your creation
you will have found your truth

Damned be the critics
Damned be the judgmental eyes

It's not for them
that you create

It's not for them 
that you suffer 
the blessed curse of passionate creation

Know what you're made of
Know that no one can judge
with any accuracy
the methods and strife
and passion
of your creation

Damn them all.
And forgive them their trespass.