Deah Caldwell Poetry

I’ve been gone for far too long

in a hibernation of despair,

sleeping off egos and chess matches

from people who barely pretend to care.

They only do it for perception.

God forbid their malice actually get caught.

They hide behind Dali-painted smiles and interactions,

believing their surrealism is actually being bought.

Their Escher-like mind fucks are daunting

–a relativity of dilusions.

Except, they’re the only ones warped while performing,

blinded by their own optical illusions.

They are the Metamorphosis of Narcissus

and embody paranoiac deprecation.

They steer the helm of irrational knowledge

into the delirium of interpretation.

They may be the ones holding the crystal ball,

forecasting predictions from their long run.

I’m just waiting for the burning glass effect to set in,

melting clocks and igniting flames from being exposed in the sun.