Inner Poem by Singer Joy

Call it a soul-
Your conscience-
Your sole penance
Remains whole
Just beneath the surface.

Call it hatred-
This feeling-
Too revealing
To be wasted,
Just beneath the surface.

In Abstraction,
Simple refraction
Blinds us to obstruction
Of emotional construction.

In Reality,
The finality
Of my mentality
Is the abnormality.

Call me crazy-
In my own depression-
Mental repression
Makes all this hazy,
Just beneath the surface.

Call me empty-
If you will, a void-
I am destroyed,
But there's more to see
Just beneath the surface.