In the Grey of a Blackened Write
Like tendrils weeping a static calm, this heart blunders into a facsimile of rendered fluctuation. Drip-by-faltering drip its counterfeit pace soothes me into oblivion...
Trigger spooled with lacking grace, attention's drilled to sag and waste away the qualms that seethe and spore to hungers chewing evermore.
Pump! Pump! I drop a load. Spiral on a quest foretold past time and space of status quo in cracks exploding what we know.
Without a map. Without a name. Without a test or wage to blame the nuisance ringing in my ear that chants of falsehoods claiming fear.
I'm ragged, worn, and filtered meek. Lost to all but drones who seek the bite that barks where ends maim fame and darkness wrongs a righteous bane.
Like tendrils weeping a static calm, this heart blunders into a facsimile of rendered fluctuation. Drip-by-faltering drip its counterfeit pace soothes me into oblivion...
—point blank—
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