I'm trying to find my voice through a maelstrom of thoughts.
Born to decompose under the iris of the sky.
An echo of myself is still hanging on the Wind.
I am the mountain in flesh.
A silhouette of Caligula.
Build my ship anew.
Pull the legs off the spider;
And build my ship anew.
My mind eye's innocuous pleasure
Is a birds eye view of our garden's maze.
Triumph is holiest when worn
With rags and woe.
I feel the slight alteration in the pattern of your thoughts.
I hook my pride to a gold chain;
So you can see the crimson tint in my eyes;
As it weighs me back down to this
Troubled land.
Tissue absorbing the potent smoke
And I dissolve back into the soothing comfort of mild psychosis.
What's beautiful about a field of mirrors is that I exist to experience it.
Time speaks backwards but I exist to spew its words.
We have already been said and done;
This is all just a dream...
Who you know is your memory.
I've become as cryptic as the ice that shivers Autumn's end.
I'm here to teach the moon to sleep.
I've learned to rob our father's keep.
My calligraphy is woven in the air;
A simple soul soaking in purple dye,
But this is just a dream...
©hobbez
H