you told me
you tell me
all the heavy things
all the heavy things
that treat darkness
as caress and see
death as king

fire on your finger tips
that point to the vacant
centrality that wants
only what it wants
when it wants

but your flames
cast your shadows
to which you praise

and to dodge shadows
is impossible
to absolve shadows
impossible

and your lips are loft
with such impossibilities
as you engage your supplication--
a vacant vessel
to the inevitable

your king would have you believe
that there is nothing to be achieved
as the energies sway in entropy
there is only our wallows yet

the king that feeds
will never provide
the king that feeds
will be your demise

the end is your iconography
as you frame the abyss
and make silence to demise

you, to your heavy things,
you, to your idols,
you, to your intonation
of self defeat, as crippling
as lullaby, as you lie your
hands to rest, every lament
a damsel's goodbye

to which there is no reply