What's fair the empty playground I'm found deserted again
no bucket or plastic shovel to build my imaginary castle by the sea
just to watch it crumble into the winter abyss that haunts me,
my everything is hidden there,
all my darkest dreams,
how fleeting they seem to me now in this moment between a yawn and a blink.
Now to count the seconds down, like hourglass grains before they're blasted into infinitum,
ad nauseum,
the shortest route to my disgusted laughter brought by iron works and silent chatter, lifted lights to gild the gladdener
Once again I've found myself saying
once again,
how long until I get to stop counting these seconds till my end.
Another chance, a silly whim, a wresting of my hope from within for others, see the colors, just to dash it upon the cemetary.
My homestead weeps, the wry touched curls of fois de gras coil
up the supports licking flames and feathers, whips and tethers, carry me through this fever dream, sniffling, sailing.
I cannot, I could, I can, I won't, I wouldn't, I should, be who would I be then?
The thought's of thoughts thinking of theories thunk to breathe that opalescent shimmer off obsidian winter bunkers built to break all meaning peaking from beneath the umbra.
Why is it so hard to just be at peace?
I guess nothing worth doing is ever easy.