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i'm a late blooming bloomer,
full of flesh and bones and mulch
the kind that sits in your stomach
after a lifetime of being beaten to a bloody pulp
and while some egomaniacs
can drown in silver spooned madness,
i'm the kind that likes to make it back home
i'm a perpetual broken reptilian ponderer
in a world full of demagogues
forever-warmed radiant robotic micr0-peasants
who all want what one another got
and i'm coming down off of my mountain
like a soft stilled general leading
brilliant minds into a state of muscled atrophy,
i've gathered in the cells of instance,
broken waves with the filers of distance,
only to be left here like a slave
and i'm coming down off of my mountain
this time, both feet are staying on the ground
"i'm just so sick of it all, you know:
the violence, the hate, the war, the rage,
just the self-defeating behavior in general.
it's just uh, absolutely ridiculous.
and it's not that i hate us; actually, i...
i love us. i see how wonderful we could be,
but then i look at us... and we're not."
borne into a hardcore world of tyranny and misfortune
mass mad armoires full of mangled beauty and nonfiction
here the sullen sins of confounding pleasantry are all but extinct
even the juxtaposed moments of intimacy are considered just a luxury
and i'm coming down off of my mountain
this time, i'll be bringing you down
