A Denouncment of a Discernable Deficit in Denials.

With restless feet I'm shuffling myself to the brink of denial
Testing it out but not partaking of a whole slice
And as the corners crumble into crumbs at my table
I will slide them off with the palm of my hand in to the garbage.
In effect I will destroy my fascinations because I am fit to do so,
Because it was written in my biography that I would
And who am I to deny the truth of the pages.
My denial is the pinnacle of my aptitude,
For I can also do flips for you through flaming hula hoops,
So put away your whips and chains and take a time to think,
What gains will I receive if I burn all my dollars before I can deposit them.
Broke, and crippled between the sofa cushions,
As I scratch for a quarter of a dollar in the last sanctuary I'm aware of.
Tomorrow my denial will be a thousand times the force it is now,
And I will not be able to reckon with the wrecking crew
Who have come to slander my walls and call me out with needles.
In this denial I will drown but for the spacious amount of time it took to see,
I am saved by my own cowardice for I lack certain attributes to make it real.
Now, before the reality sets in I will shuffle away back the way I came,
And I will surmise what can be figured only to have it dropped to the floor,
Where it shatters like already fractured glass,
Gracious children will try to help me put it back together,
But how can I be bothered with the pieces when I hated my antiques so.