Your favorite coping technique

Is lifted for nefarious aims

Same difference is far from identical

Vital stabs into the marrow of our worth

Shaking when the blood’s drawn

Fluorescent lights only make it worse

I’ll transform to the lines in the television

An incision into the table we dine at

The line that crosses all sand

Dust becomes ash

Under the buoy isn’t your fate

Seldom becoming irate

Yet when it strikes

Your mind can’t leave it

Blaming yourself for every transgression

The gray procession fills a gap

Yet creates an overlapping hole

Perplexed at the conflicting symptoms

The syntax is still validated

Villains may lurk while you sleep

You’ll make it another night

Tomorrow will restore you

The stoic receiver

Tied down by coaxial cable

Every signal conflicts

Just give it six months