Here I will take part, for I have before If or since my path includes to suffer me. I, through air's hue, weave invisibly Something I said, jagged and jaded Spiked and broken, woven with my things Angered and sad. Fermented by grievance, demented Thoughts and motions meant to be said And instead are in this, My collection of pink demons' chants. A fool's flaccid stabbing into darkness, Who tickles ears and who fakes consciousness.
All this my air. Fair evenings With my mornings of no meaning. My indeterminate verse that does Flourish into the key of our sea. A pretty sentence circling around my neck Threatens to tighten with each re-edit.