Praying to fallen suns – titans of a previous world view: formulaic.
“I am immortal, so cut me again”.
Tiring skeletons, freeing insomniacs – trying to convince the gardener that roses don’t need tending.
Weaving through vehicles (look at the snow!), inciting an accident – what the small lives will never know.
“What an offense”, declared the jury dread, this justice insufflates – yet holds a grudge.
Freedom’s synonyms wilt: pearls before those worthy – hundred foot wall for a skull.
Leather compendium shouting, “I’m back again”. Knee’s stop jerking – toilet paper parachutes landing in an ocean of context.
Dripping from chest in the shape of unsought uniqueness to the marrow of a core.
“Now sever my head”.