All fair things are rotten inside
Infused grey bits of debris collide
Graceful wings waltz, their charm has ended
Into a wreckage of all things splendid
I've consumed all of your dark matter
Studying every piece of phantom amber
In those remnants, I feel a hush
Like echoes from a decanter's rush
At times I do not trust my mind
My thoughts are often mixed with wine
I wonder: "what if I die?"
You tell me: "what if you don't."
Apr 5, 2024
Apr 5, 2024 at 11:33 PM UTC
All fair things are rotten inside
Infused grey bits of debris collide
Graceful wings waltz, their charm has ended
Into a wreckage of all things splendid
I've consumed all of your dark matter
Studying every piece of phantom amber
In those remnants, I feel a hush
Like echoes from a decanter's rush
At times I do not trust my mind
My thoughts are often mixed with wine
I wonder: "what if I die?"
You tell me: "what if you don't."