As if conversations coming in through the walls
Muffled and unclear
Imperfect, in the way that the marvel cinematic universe has bastardized expectations
Still, like a mouse in a maze
The echoes of implication
Shift like tectonic plates
If only I could fucking understand it.
If only I could lower my head, and hands, and quit with the constant aggression and anger.
And its just this low simmer, all the time. Utterly in control, but always present.
Like a dream where I was expecting to have something beautiful, and instead got the truth.
And the honesty stings in a way that makes me feel small and stupid.
Where I've worked so hard, for so little.
The fetishization of self: a consumptive vortex
Where I dream of sun-dried blood staining forgettable soil.
I am the harbinger of the desert to come.
The sand that wears the banner
Swarming locusts overcome with hunger
The hands before the hammer.
As if the storm ever subsides
In the minds of all that grieves
What intricate forms this victory takes
In this hamlet held by thieves.
And it’s there in all the chaos
Framed in all that lies
As a warlord on the conquest
For that which never dies
They'll speak of derogation
As if beyond the veil
Where the ghosts of all that haunt me
Are anything but pale.
As if the wolves are closing
Like the demons and their sin
Open offers in sensation
Where there’s nothing left to win
Moving forward in the shadows
As a fugitive of the light
surely I'll find something
Surely I can make this right
And I feel you in the wind,
and I smell you in concrete.
And I hear you like a siren
Like some fate I've yet to meet.
