Dead lungs command it.
You pour your life down the rifle's spiral
And show us you've earned it
The cleric's fog will recede right before your eyes
So long to this wretched form
Them grey eyes on the subway.
Long before you were born
You were always to be a dagger floating straight to their heart.
"Listen now we won't tell anyone
But you gonna tell the world
This whole life ain't been any fun.
Now your viscera unfurls,
as you rise. Rise from your burning fiat and
You've thoroughly blown their minds and now I must
Have passage home. Your life. Just two veins from your heart."
You're not invisible now.
You just don't exist.
Your mother must be so proud.
You sublimate yourself granting us a wish
A primitive mural on the wall
to fortify your grim resolve.
Amid the glitz of a shopping mall
Another grain of indigent salt for the
sea. Good night to these wretched forms.
All them grey eyes on the subway.
So long before you were born you were always
to be a dagger floating straight to their heart.