Auto-Iconoclast

To all those nasty voices in the back of your head....

 

Auto-Iconoclast

 

Ever stop and pay attention

To the criticism

Unrelenting malice

Obnoxious pretension

Misplaced or not

They only seem to have a voice

That’s far away

Discarnate

Dislocated

And hidden from sight

It’s not as if I’d like a fight but rather a face to face

However awkward

Couldn’t hurt

But there in lies the complication

These fiends, these villains

Agents in thrall to degradation

Might not have a face at all.

If a person (let’s say a*****e) complains all night far out of view

Are they, in fact, actually corporeal?

Or just an overload of white noise

It’s a terrible position

Impossible to maintain one’s poise

I wax philosophic

I ponder

I stew

Honestly, It’s not like I’m bored

Theoretically I’m a busy guy

Plenty to see, plenty to do

Unlike these potentially intangible b******s

(Who, if of mortal coil, I promise no offense was meant)

And ne’er do well figments

Who’ve taken up residence in my mind

Without any apparent point or pigment