---

crushing my legs between the gears
let the crust form over my eyes
fields of grey cast no shadows
wise men sit, with abrasive acceptance
of the love for themselves

relinquishing, control to the hand
of the ever grinding state
the massive pendulum
swinging out of line
a subtle hint to give in
an epicenter of rot inside
daily lashes on our backs


not hard to tell, what's to come

I choke and gasp to inhale the thick air
I stomp my feet until they are broken and bare
liquid swells beneath burning ground
Under the bark, the wood is soft

Fortunate if we witness this falling
justice is only served in a bitter end
sucking from their gluttonous master
see the remnants line their lips
streaking drool
wets the knees
dropping to where they sit
Throne of shit

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