Concrete feet. Sandpaper soles. Heart full of anvils. Stomach full of coal. Dawn seems jaunty. Throw me a bone. Cause I don’t wanna leave the place I call home.

I’m crossing the terminal. Pulling fishing line behind. Last few mornings brought a chill to my spine. Falling off an awful safari of inflamed tonsils on a gondola. Blooming tumors souped up the true prima donna. Not one for the sauna. More of an oasis basis tenant. Fending for the right to shine amongst my other descendants. I send as much I ingest, lie defenseless to interest. Purpose sentinels existence, encircling murderous mentions that flicker in the dark with the fireflies and lanterns, held by lost pilgrims long gerrymandered. The stragglers struggle, blindly stumble, and bumble. Humbled by the grumbling interwoven with their slumber. Just a number, not a man, a mummer to a hand of applause that faltered off when I threw the cross from the land. I’m sick of the leash leading us, the greed bleeding us, the vehemence of hypocrisy the king’s feeding us.

Something’s boring into my brain - “Your gate is boarding.” I’ve been in a trance, mesmerized by the memories of adorning this city with my 8-bit cadence and sub-patience. They’re trying to tell me my stomping grounds are now famous. Shit’s baseless, you want a new and improved model? Stop polishing the bauble and recognize it already toppled. Thousand fragments now a stained glass statue, standing in the exit of what I hope’s the very last vacuum here on Earth. I rock a bulletproof thunder shirt cause the army ants around me have got a motherfucking plunder thirst. I wonder, first, could this have ever been avoided? And, second, if it’s even possible to escape this annoyance. It’s strangely buoyant for a bloated mass with so many offspring and it’s defiance in death has got me turning and tossing in my sleep, keeping me up too many nights, it’s time to throw in the towel and finally catch this flight.