That Which is Inside of WE

I enjoyed writing this short poem. As such, I hope you do, too.

Bathe in the pandemonium, in the sea; know the fetus forms the simulated. 

The waves in the eye's pulse, so dilated.

This battle, this Heaven-cursed war shall be mitigated. 

Furthermore, a garish hunger is never dictated or sated.

Feed the slovenly beast, he that obliterates the innards, the inside of me.
He is foppish and not obtuse; that is a single finite, driving truth.
All us fools put on charades; they're retro, even passé.
Inside that coldest eye's sea, a dragon slumbers, waiting to break free.