The hermit and his hand
Sticky fingers and solitude
kama sutra of the fingers

We're mixing our races
Peaking what will help us survive
Bots are advancing till they take the future

We'll be long gone
Wrinkly decays nourishing tomorrow
Whatever that tomorrow is

We're a ticking time bomb
The next war will end with us all
Sometimes I wonder who will be left for the rapture?

She looked at him in fright
Terror, emanating from the smile she manages
He looked at her in grimace
Control, grinning from words he holds servitude

They looked at each other
Wishing tomorrow but yesterday comes
Exchanging nostalgic reveries in those tiny reflex glances of -we were perfect-

They lay together with bruised knuckles and swollen jaws.
The anticipation of violence et
The anticipation of conspiracy s'épaissir

The fear of being alone and the need to be the man leaves scars on their being whilst they cuddle watching the sun set on the warm coasts of Bora Bora

Their love ebbing away

Becoming weird is like
gods wishing they were mortals

Becoming weird is like
A priest dancing to trap music

Becoming weird
looses the logic in normal

But becoming theweirdblack
Is how perfect you are  

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I say hello poetry
The titles you bear are crucial
As I scroll I look out for you

Yes you title!
How you're framed to lure me
How those words make me pause and click

Your parents, the poets
Are inherently cunning
Luring by just expressing themselves

So I say hello poetry
The titles you bear are crucial
As I scroll I'll look out for you

You don't need to feel love or pain
He paints them with words