It's funny how many people
will gather around
just to see one man on a building.

They don’t even know me
I barely even know me.

I’ve seen the gate but I've
never entered it;
never could find the **** key.

It's sick really,
they’re not here
because they care
they don’t even know who I am.

They just want to
partake in ritual sacrifice.

I’ll die like a Viking
a heroic death in combat.
I’ll be caught by Valkyries.

My body will be
of fire
and I will steal their children’s innocence.

They can shield their eyes,
but I’ll
scar the Earth,
I’ll
paint her red.

A mural with my brain.

And they can see everything that’s inside.

I’ll break the **** door
right off its hinges.
You can’t make people care,
but you can force them to see.


It's cold up here,
and the city is beautiful:
constructs of man
breaking the sky.

And me, in her.

At least the wind
is on my side,
the defiled king left to die
in a labyrinth of stone.

The sewers as my
burial crypt,
rats and snakes
******* my blood.

But the remnants of a soul
long forgot
still feeds the mouths that
rely on the few with food.

Their stomachs ache and
their hearts pound to
the beat of one drum.
A drum that beckons me to the edge.


Who am I to starve the hungry?


They don’t need a break,
they need to push harder.
I planted the trees.
I planted the oak
and I killed the yew.

I’ve tasted its arils
and made peace with the Ibis
that guided me here.
And as it watches me
with craned neck,
and bent beak

I leave my throne
and descend to water those
whose shade I will never sit beneath.