A headache that
knocks, knocks, knocks
While fingers, are closer and farther, with black dots dots dots
There is no rhythm for a universe to rule, but
Humans pretend; saying chaos is over, done, the lines we cannot cross, are completely white, let these erase all objection.
The tips waver on the light
Touch, touch, touch
As they turn to face my
Eyes, eyes, eyes
Remove one key to the stability and see men flounder
Pressure from the change, defining a stressor, which
Accelerates into a dip;
A free fall
And from this fall man finds solution -
"Gouge out creation, and or the visage.
Self mutilation seems better to be fit
Then to carry such hideous, black, venom
Which is the root, to which man unlocks
What he himself is."
The shutter stock effect leaves me without
My own touch causes me to
Recoil, recoil, recoil
Now that man is without fingers,
He has no worries, the dreaded darkness,
Which plagued his poor, unprotected fingers, are gone, as both are severed.
Now he is truly stable.