Dearest of propheteers,

What is it that thou fears the most in this shortest of lives?
Is it the lack of essence that responds to you?
Or the abundance of death?

Is it all the paper's with faces on them thou has spent?
Or the all of nothing thou has left?

What is thy deepest desire?
Thy lonely attire sticks out amongst the preppiest of crowds,
Thine nonsense goes nowhere now!!!!

Honesty has become thy surest of all enemies,
Few is much when the poor have plenty!!!

Death thou coward!!!
How is it thine self puts up a fight when I'm locked into solitary?

Involuntary I throw these sweat clinched tasting fists,
Place thy worthy bets to all booky lists!!!!

Reality no longer seems real to me,
A steal indeed if the tag is brand new!!!!