they say "we are pencils in the hands of the creator"
the milky way dwells in your pupils, dilate them,
supernovas sojourn in your hearts, decimate them
so you can see, so you can feel,
homo sapiens sapiens are mere stencils for our imperator..
.. named fear,
now all we need are chisels soaked in diesel,
hills not made on bills and pills,
but gills of fire and chills,
and will that tills and kills,
beheld by our mortal metacarpi,
are the big two of the dai di to our moirai,
smear on fear's rear till he tears and trembles,
that we are our own gods,
and we will decide how our cookie crumbles.
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DIRTY COMPUTER ✓
PoetryA poisonous pool pertubatively plenteous and packed with programs in which Christopher, this poriferous punk provokes with pleasure, pines in pain and ponders with poetry, 2019 Watty Winner. Featured on Wattpad's official Poetry; Random.
