My fingers dance across two dimensional realities,
fighting reason with words that never grow,
ideas that never change as the sun rains and the rain snows;
it's just another manifest of immortality scorned
as I set fire to these paper dry plains of hell
and watch the edges curl up into dead language scrolls
as thunder rolls across the midday sky and swells
against the pretty little heads of and innocent eyes of newborns.
And the words will never know
that I softly blow my gritty song out of my soul,
onto the flame so they're grow;
higher and higher and soon I'm wired
with the newness of electric chemistry reacting inside of me,
blue and molten and boiling between my skin
with a feverish glow of sunrise seas
crawling beneath my knuckles and knees,
playing my bones like piano keys
that strike the strings of sins long forgot.
It's a beautiful hatred of humanity spilling off the edges
of each burning memory that dredges lost and found sensations
of lust and vanity and fallen down dreams with bloody palms
that heal against the concrete in lacerated rends
and everyone else pretends that nothing is worth being wrong,
that being real means blending in to the insanity.