secret title

perhaps the worst thing of all, i think,
is hope.

there is a white buzzing noise
in the monotony of suffering
which kindly soothes you or sweetly drives you to madness
(but it is there
that morbid peace
in the certainty of infinity)

but if you break that lulling, maddening sameness
if the record needle of the universe skips
that's the place where hearts can die
and souls can crumble

O, Persephone
tantalizing saviour
how did you hide such hell so well, so deep
in the innocent guise of a favor?

"That's the hell of it," he grins, his moustache grinning with him
Tips his hat and waltzes away, nicking a purse as he goes
Because he knows
he knows
he knows down to his toes

It's the little things that kill ya.

(pontius pilate's lament)