The Norms That Author the Self Render the Self Substitutable

The norms that author the self render the self substitutable The lie we need in order to live dooms us to a life that is never really ours Every drive is beset by foreignness A game played by the coincidence that is the world Self-discovery, stale and complete, proves to be utterly futile The vagueness of the person in a mechanical world spinning into decay and death This silent struggle toward no end and no meaning Bitter distress endured in secret Foreboding which dries up all hope Doleful heart, living in darkness Wraithlike body on the point of death The sodden lumber of the body The heart’s void confronting time’s The abyss of myself An abyss in the very realizing