Here I've grown to accept the riddles of each day, to culminate into a coalesced mesh of disarray.
Never would the seeds down under sprout to see the sun at the mere sound of thunder.
X marks the spot somewhere dissolving in my gut, wrenching at the chance to give both some and none of which we call *****.
I've lost my faith in humanity,
I've lost humanity in my faith.
Yet I'd face my fate if only just to sate the state.
This flip book of stop.
Animation.
Assimilates fremescent assibilation,
And similarly tastes terrible,
Savoring like dry sponge, and tied tongues,
It's incredibly trivial, just a trivia of syllables stripped up to simple tools.
Simple tools.
Simple...

They stay vigil, ever waiting the new design of sigils.
Kinda simple, keep their fingers pressed to pimples,
The pus a pit of petered parts,
Perceived by the reckoning of depleted hearts.
I rushed the doors at the sound of a great escape,
The process a repeat coordination of hurry up and wait.
Ever balking at the atrocities of cost,
Average Joes chasing dreams at the velocity of sloths.
How to be content with immense disparity?
Hands out faking quivers, shaking for some charity.
Forsaken someones somewhere surviving on a sliver,
Watching all the getters, I see myself a giver.

Repackaged, see the sentiment sculpted in the semblance of a seraphim with second skin,

I'm reckoning,

Respecting artistry is the energy in empathy,

Interdigitating like gloves to fingers,

Clutching the doorknob,

Twisting to a time that was once there, felt by a someone,

A freethinking carbon unit,

Carved by cards dealt and carsick movements,

This perfect person; a testament to diverging from automation,

A someone, Doing SOMETHING, somewhere,

Forging from thoughts to creation.

I admire you as a maker of things,

There are no mistakes, every moment is golden  -  don't flinch

Where we are is somewhere quiet.

Somewhere along the outskirts of a border town between Thailand and Cambodia.

I'm walking along what should be a desolate road under the glow of a late afternoon sky,

In the near distance a flock of birds shroud past a little girl being pushed around in a wheelbarrow by her brother.

I don't hear anything, everything has the volume turned down,

Muted to a still silence, and it's then I realize I've lost the rest of my senses too.

All but my sight, which is fixated closely on the most genuine smile and happiness I've ever come to witness.

Here and now has never been more imminent, for the first time in my history I might actually just be living in the present.

I hold my standards to an apex inexplicable,

Amalgamate the serendipity bouncing up through every syllable,

Never to extinguish the conquest of a man,

through the echoes of his eyelids that put aside asylum tryna understand.

I ain't shouting to the deaf, nor breathing in the miasma,

I amass a massive mastery and disenchant disaster.

None to believe the heretics denouncing between the flames,

The accusation between falsehoods are strung beneath the names,

A rivalry hosts opinion, incongruent to the mustered memory,

I bode the omens overhead and pray these sanctums hold my enemies.

As I'm retracing thoughts back and forth,

I court discord through gaping jaws,

This talk's a sport, on days I'd really rather not report.

But here I am again, don't know how to make amends,

I just hold my breathe and then play pretend.

Far fetched among the text that I've regressed,

Heart of gold with ribs abreast my treasure chest.

Change is easy at the precipice,

Bend the common law to fit the purpose we deem relevant. +

The benefit of sedatives circumvent the medicine.

Tennyson, tentative with the page and pen,

Again I'm holding thumbs while my eyes begin to pendulum.

I waste my words with ones not even worth mentioning.

Elevate me, bring me to a separated plane,

That would culminate my thoughts from somewhere between spiritual and deranged.

But ok, debunk yourself from stable,

From making magic between the tragic epiphanies; reversed serendipity to cradle.

This traffic of ideas tesselate the snake train,

Elaborated in definitions of tapestry and fake names.

Wallflower, with no protest to bonemeal,

Kaleidoscope of diets from eggshells and chlorophyll.

Hmmm, this brain food's a drug inducing misdirection, that holds no compass but somehow still sheens a cruel reflection.

Of course, consolidated losses, juxtapose the crosses,

Sway the form of faith to a diluted array of traits. +

And when the gullets a game for gross concoctions,

It's obvious isolation and failure seem the only options.

But anyway, with a sober mind still intact,

I could follow lines of letters from loosely to exact.

Clearly there is no sure thing, especially when the puppet contorts to the willful rhythm pulling at his own strings.

Look how far we've come, from willing to unable, that would shatter any semblance of cards still on the table.