Damnbrosia

guess this is how you master dancing with the stars a slew of ancient footprints in the sand So pirouette upon the roofs of houses made of cards sell scores of petrichor in little cans and tell them it’s ambrosia juice that gods would surely drink to keep your hide from cracking on the street and struggle ‘gainst the habit not to lie each time you blink ‘til the mausoleum walls stand by your feet and to all the scratched up faces in the mirror asking “why?” I tell you let the question be unasked and let some new breaths restore that childlike twinkle in your eyes and cast your cavalier laugh on the past and to all the sickened souls, self loathing woe and inward nauseous your chariot of vomit will come and make you well though it might be still delayed, O this release I surely promise and then O you will ascend from self-destructive Hell so I know that this is what it’s like to prance among the stars bored and out of unexplored land and if I had a time machine I would have gripped so hard the first time that I shook your little hand. and every time you’re mentioned, it makes me stop and think what if fate had simply never let us meet? how many of us felt like ants a-drowning in a sink? or were squirming worms at mausoleum feasts? So suffering, my mistress, this ode goes out to you It’s the Hallelujah you’ve been starved from hitherto I hope you don’t mind I really hope you don’t mind.