It’s all sweetness and light,
But the saccharin is cancerous.
The chapel bells ring,
But the cacophonous tune is deafening.
The skies are blue,
But it’s the color of choleric melancholy.
A breeze is blowing,
But its tepid, putrid wisps won’t soothe.
I can smell the rats,
But I cannot follow their tails.
Who am I to be
When everything I am–
How I reverberate,
Why I resonate–
Is where I cannot be,
Is what I am not permitted to be?