33

my hands are outstretched my wingspan at its fullest
and I can only beat my own ego into the dirt so far
as to regrow it from its seed
the truest hatred will regrow
the saddest stories will still unfold
a different epic, a different face, a different life
but the pain, it still ails me
the fear of nothing beneath the surface threatens my pride
IS THIS SHELL SO HARDENED TO PREVENT INTRUSION
Oh, Helen, your city her walls
your court in jest
who am i, why are my own hands beating my own chest
bracing for corruption the palace walls
traversed by demons in leagues with the devils
and the carrion will manifest in between my sheets
selling the scent of past lovers to the hounds
and their razor teeth, and her razor talons
and her flapping wings
harpy
and the fate we all predicted
a life spent shallow, alone, self righteous and sowing my own fields
all in effort to wake the soul trapped under the media bliss
and the glitz and glam of a good fuck
well i've traded in my halo for a liter of gin and a case of rubbers
because ill never unearth that fallen soldier
he's joined the ranks in valhalla
wielding their weapons against I
and face to face
I wont remember those days
I wont remember those words
I wont remember the grave danger in loosing oneself.