Sticky notes lie before the outspread legs,
Willing to keep time with the music I sing.
Space and time melt into sonatas,
Verses stuttering along with frayed sonnets.
Lies are told beneath silvery moons
And far beyond sad boys and girls falling in love.
I adopted the mantra of the exiled
To carry me through the halls of frozen tomorrows.
The devils will work through a million stars and suns;
Depression creeps behind all who fall prey
To false idols and religions.
Mass genocide dances in the dreams
Of unusual elections, separating
The good from the bad—
And all that sleeps in between.
Where is the acceptance of sullen creatures,
Morphing within promise and virtue?
Patchwork faces smile through ripped threads,
Exposing discontinued secrets of the betrayed.
Glass-shaped sorrow shatters
Like a million cult leaders
Raging against their own martyrdom.
There will be blood.
