Every Breath Indulgent

feelings seem to live next door
reflex is prominent
externals are just that
smalltalk buries large subjects
anyone seen the truth lately ?
we create strangers
there is a sip left in my glass
my mind encased in a living skull
and everything is a picture
purpose, how is it possible ?
when distraction is an action
in cold hypnosis we stomp and holler
the end — a final end someday
then travel to sky, to the blue moor