Reading the boxcars
Goliath iron makers
Deep into who-knows-where for who-cares-why
Echoes Rolling on into a sick world of clanking metal
the counter-culture
is held under the knife
Each painting triggering a flash of déjà vu
past experiences that never took place
Pile chemicals into the immolation
burning my heart
infect me more deftly, I seek nothing
Because I am through with it
Would it be fair to say: “I missed you” ?
A vacant longing for a faceless plethora of color
All those human flowers plastered on those great wyrms
In a vulgr attempt to linger, but not be forgotten
Because we would rather die than be prisoners
In this dead world of iron and stone
that tore the trees from my grasp
to leave the world a better place
trivial justifications against a barren backdrop
trivial sideways words, to combat paper shields
do not betray me now when they have lain waste to the beauty we keep
when we have forsaken so much to carry on
I sought to be invisible
As long as I could be seen by one other
Who could see me for what I am
That person is a fiction, like many things
Forget me! Forget that I passed through this place
Could you not see me for what I am?
For what I do, or for what I mean
And I fall amongst the worthless in this world of academics
I am of the dark family
That sacrificed so much to be this way
it has been a long time coming
we are down to the wire
where I crushed my soul into my hands
and forced it out of them
it was what i could do, but not nearly enough
to help anyone see
it kills me to know that my children have been forfeited
the leviathan has fallen, we simply decorate its carcass
that one day others may pluck it’s scales
and hold them to the sky to hide from the raining wrath
as we slip through the wasteland of metal tracks
breathing beasts in the frost of the night
sauntering between the agreeable world we sacrificed
the collapse is all-encompassing
the feeble attempts of reconstructing my flowers
into a world of metal that roars on into the night
I forgive you.
But I can never trust another again.
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