Living life throught the scents fo the ages, love through the time it takes to unscrew the cap on top of your favorite Starbucks beverage concoction. Pre-purposed, ready-made, on-the-spot existence, fresh out of the box, prepared wiht the knowledge that YOU, and YOU alone, would be the one to enjoy it's fascist goodness.

But who's this for? What makes this your's, or anyone elses? A funeral lies in the bottom of the cereal box, ready for you to make the first move. A wedding day is packaged in shrink-wrapped affection, blood-stained martyrs the maids, ready and waiting to wilt at the feet of the righteous, their un-pious selves.

The arrows follow the clouds through the shallow liquid straight to your heart. Knocking on the door ("May I enter your chambers?"), entrance ("Why yes, You may..."), Death ("Thanks for the tea.").

Exeunt. Stage Left.

Forever and never shall We, as an adorned race pre-determined for Faith and Failure, continue on this alleyway ridden with strife and blood-lust. Raw rock shall kill, forever and ever.

Amen.

Wow...I pulled that one out of my ***. Wonderful writing session. I haven't written a poem in God knows how long. That felt good, needless to say.

fin.