I hearsay that I fear to show myself. Awkward..

The wall is not a wall
But a totem of hope warped beyond
Hope
Tainted by the ideal framed through skin
Scratched in a flurry of gestures, each farther
Inside a rotten concept of trashy desolation
There is no original ideals, only new modalities
Around flashy prostitution. Plastic too can bend.
Bend

A new layer does not protect from infection
That which has not changed, much less improved
We already been there, taking candles for viability
The hot wax for playthings, and before we knew it
Gone. Animals too can be impatience, and we feel
The same, running it down to the minimal effect.
In fact, I infer by particulars and sinisters frames
In my eyes we do not shout, we embrace doubt publicly
To float anew in the dauntingly high veranda
Nauseated with ourselves.

I talk in riddles not for I might be only one
But for many could take my place
And come up to the very same conclusions
Helping none, whatsoever, to improve my condition
This enfermity it consumes, ravenous plague of conscious resolve
I want to be somebody, rather, it becomes therefore awkward
Society, as it should, and by principle throws me that low baller'
"Now, now, slow your roll
Keep your head low
Your life is a joke
Don't make this awkward"
Cannot say I disagree. 

Bitter laughter rings in my brain
Or somewhere damm near it
Now that I achieved the bliss
Of ever wishful solitude
What comes next remains a mistery
For I got no one to contradict for way of passage
Direction or otherwise guidance, please send help