I’ve made a hobby
out of getting lost
in the apocalypse
blossoming in the "ad nauseam".

Dolly zoom on the obelisk
I’ve scrawled my nonsense on.
Jump-cut to my fist clenched
at purple firmament;
blood running down forearm.
Fade to black.
No credits.

Again.
Nonsense.

Once i wished we would
eventually turn a front porch
into a cathedral.

Honey still dripping from every moon.

Some sh#t like that.

there is always more hallways.
this labyrinth is unyielding
to my desire sitting like
a king atop my curiosity's corpse.

more hallways,
more thrones.

stop, please.

you have to stop
holding onto
every ****t thing
that happens to you.

I thrive off weakness
Seeing the deepend
As a way to way to
Try and breath again

Worlds will bleed before they sing.

Sorry to be the dying spider curling up
underneath your church pew,
but i’m not really.

This is a service of another colour.
Pays less, as well.

Again, what the f&%k am i talking about?