Pray for rust and clouded skies answer prayers in rain.
The dissonance of solecism wraps our gift in pain.
Fantasy of years passed by, of older calm I yearn,
reading books alone at home, you know? I never learn.
Write it in the largest font, bolded on my eyes.
Brand it hot, italicized, or carved into each thigh.
Sticky note the space between my skull and rigid mind,
what I know and what I feel just won\'t fucking align.
The automaton dances to a jig I cannot hear.
It\'s pirouette so petty, a currency of fear.
Never petitioned the closed council,
won\'t miss the lovely view,
Let me off this fucking ride, or remake me anew.