7 billion poets laid claim to the soul,
but got lost in her face.

How far away
is just too **** far?
We ran for the moon,
but got caught up on the way.
The sun's in our eyes
and the hills to our backs,
I know it should feel good,
but, *******,
It feels like yesterday's.
I took you by the hand and said,
"It's okay, you can follow me."
Then I ran us off a cliff
into trust's shallow grave.

I'm unapproachable;
Antisocial - like the last polar bear
pondering where all the ice went.
This apocalyptic wasteland's death grip
strikes like Spock's back hand,
but lacks the tenacity to finish them.
Unkempt revenge - pit me against the spent.
I'm locked in combat with these autopilot pussycats
as they feverishly flutter by life on burnt batteries.
I'll stay strangling the head of a lantern
while banging on the door of the Banished
'till those mother ******* get fed up and answer.
I'll subdue every corner of evolution 'til
I grow fangs and communicate via echolocation.
Then I'll circumnavigate the coliseum
like Casper tweaked out on freedom.
Throw away your crucifixes, Lucifer.
That's not what you're supposed to use them for.
This is just linguistics infused with an acid drip;
Fourth dimensional Hieroglyphics ripped
from the pages of forbidden scripture
then translated through star patterns.
You see a pentagram, I see an anagram
dispelling your dimwitted notions.
A page from the past - A name tag crippled
by your misplaced primitive gasp.

I see you sitting there with a thumb in your mouth
and you wonder why the words wont come out.
The kid's too stout - he's too proud - too loud.
The type to carry around a pouch of sauerkraut
then pout when everything tastes south. Outstanding!
He's damming the river to prevent the peasants from swimming,
and doesn't realize the only thing keeping him afloat is down below.
Hello? Turn them sky highs into clout, boy- make it snow!

Lord of the purple prose - (what does he mean) who knows?
Not me - I'm too busy dwindling the last of the rations;
irrationally casting matches at a long list of parched cabins.
How can you expect me to feed in an orderly fashion?
I didn't reach the top link to eat without sending a message.
Savage patch kid wielding lightsabers for utensils -
We're a rare breed bred into existence to resist all that is vintage.
Equipped with shark fangs and griffon wings,
we're here to free the underlings from redundent sufferings.
Please excuse the reign, it follows me wherever I go
like a little lost dog caught up under my toe,
gravitating towards my end-all deathblow.