when do they think of,
lying there, bequeath of me-
aslumber gentle genocide
to play games
with the past.
rested and arrested
by the mammoth hypocrisy-
gentle swaying zombies,
crying wolf to the breeze.
take me out there-
never mind-
I know the demons
make a mock of thee.
and truce! TRUCE!
territory vain,
vastly crazy, undo strangers,
taking mine own legacy.
and how, certainly you notice
vainly truth mixing ******,
I knew once
how sweet the poison is.