One more absent day knocks on my windows pane
Feeling yet irksome
At the word
In it, maybe?
In what but life triggering all
Senses - love, hate, sight, touch -
Some smell in there
If it's the good kind

And I will never be excused by time

And I will always be within time

Unless I get some of that good before death stuff
In the form of noxious anxiety
Only to take me to a pixilated place
Where sounds are shapes and amorphous sentients
Of pre-ancient times
Whisper to me in a child-like way (secrets secrets are no fun)
Yet they are not children
They are stars made of dust

Just like we are

Cast out like a *****
Reaching a place of deeper solitude
Where the trees cannot even throw shade
Where the rain can no longer wet with self righteous mist
Where the sun can no longer burn or warm or soothe

Where nature -
Time's little ***** -
No longer recognizes my gait
My stench
Or even my look for

I am no longer Her child

I am no longer Her parasite

Because I have changed,

Abandoning all She has given me
Hence fulfilling the curse of humanities need
To go forth

Progress expand innovate

No Matter the Costs