This throne of mine
A stool of polished promises
Nevermind the bones that stick up
From the pool of waste around me
Come ask me for coin,
I'll share with you me stoney rubles
Come ask me for guidance,
I've maps for every goose imaginable.
Come ask me for time,
I will spend it with you waiting
Waiting
Waiting for you to ask me of the elephants,
That stampede through my kingdom.
If you don't care to ask
Then my reaction will be just as subtle.
I hate my temple
As to fix an explosive to it
Then I wouldn't have to fix it
And drift away from this home
That's not my home
To the abyss

halfheartedly;
artistry is vacuous.
acquiescence come after ****,
gotta love it though.
everyone is a judge with
not a care in their heads other
than
insurrection's growth.

oh ****
no bliss breathing between here
  and seasons forgotten about.

cattle corralled,
antlers on the raw wood, looming.

Iast on the lists, remember?
Ive never felt ok.
rarer with the hellish day,
agog at the god-head
coming apart like a
house on fire, where's the bellows at?

fade.

The landmasses conspire together
To release us into tartarus.
It's hungy blackness is only hightened
Lines of red like eyes of fire
Filled with the sight of blood.
Silence takes a wry turn
Mingling respect with mourning.
Will I see you're faith restored
In the soggy skies that drift
Over sidewalks that mark our territory.
Our pain may pave the way they
Wish to take
Ashamed.
I face the dawn alone, sweeping up ashes
Perhaps this pheonix will wake
Before these nails are driven home

does the apathy translate?

the wanton wanderlust trusted
to lead,
to shepherd a dying empty me
out of the desert in my blood,
is more yours than mine I find
when the violence of mind
is finally transmuted into the
kind of silence that usually
follows the snapping of
violin strings.

you were always symphony halls
hanging framed in monochrome,
because someone wanted you replaced.

I feel like we all are, though.

is that even apathy?

besides: somehow...
new toronto and
the "old" moon?

                quiz me sober
with the best broke
and beaten h'americana...

quiz me lobe...
quiz me skint...
       quiz me dog-barking...
and quiz me
the tooth riddle gnashing
an evening out
spoil of soda froth

I can measure time with blinking eyes.
Reading the lights behind my eyelids
Reaping benifits that **** the atrocious hazel gaze
I find
I seek three of everything my feet can squirm over to. Gluttonous smelly mouthless creeping toiling sleeping paranoia, held back within the reaches of my skin, a key needed and kept secret, yet released frequently for its servitude to these, our basest natures.

I can measure bliss in forgotten time.
Pupil dilation suspected slime boss
What the **** am I doing.