Then the crows that rest on my telephone-wire-like-veins turn to doves and float into the sunset,
Not wanting to forget the horror they just witnessed,
Not realizing they were the white light of risky business.
Trickling down my body is a tear darker than blood,
However innocent it seems it is really menacing,
For it reveals my true intentions as clear as light now cast upon me,
From your interrogating stare to this secular obsession.
Turned religious in my care of this diminishing person
Who's thoughts bare no witness to peace or harmony with my own,
So the seed of your deception has been planted and now grows.
Thoughts of charisma lay dormant to the Queen Bee in this colony
Of misfitted and unproportioned alibis I've spent too long trying to revive,
When in all honesty I should have just been a man and denied them.
While steadily you supplied them with succulent results,
I carefully pried them while you prided all your work.
Tears now beating down in a similar rhythm to the pace of my heart.
Fixated on times when time went still and lay there for me to ignore.
Yet now I stare at these times and capture what I should have realized then.
Now I realized the trust I scrutinized matched your scrupulous lies.
Looking at a bust that represented wisdom and asking why my brain is still in my bust.
Why can't I think outside the box to the realm of omniscient,
Why doesn't my wisdom find shelter in my helm,
Instead of being dispersed within four empty chambers?
Why does my face fill red instead of clear,
When your hilt meets my partial body and turns it bias.
Dorsal resting while the heavens are measuring the proximity to pick me up.
Tears no longer flow for fear of getting too dehydrate because all I sip now is Hate.
Who needs inspiration when the pages already have words yet to be written.
So the pen takes my spot in bleeding and encompasses the workload to be done.
Not forced in its precision on abstract or its vague mention of concrete weighing down the matter.
The words come together like a flock of ceremony doves released at once;
The feelings of crows come together in a murder to haunt the unsuspecting colony
And take over the Queen Bee and replace her with a democracy,
Releasing the prisoners of those quad-cells,
And relieving this hell in my breast.
The ink tearing from my eyes fill the page with just the right amount of emotion,
Just the right amount of imagery;
Just the right amount of truth.
