We lived sullen in
awkward decadence.
Hoarding strange
little monuments. and
Odes to us.
Enough to choke on it.
The black soot of
sacrificial trees.
I saw them
burning mid-suicide.
Martyrs with wooden hearts.
at least they used them.
Unlike us
we had accidental brains
and drooled over them.
the cold blooded arrogance
Not really noble yet
we stay
sleeping like the
greed in prodigied monks
Wake me up when the
bees grow heavy
with honey again.
pinch me when we
collectively awake.