Drinking Brandy at 12pm on a Sunday,
And perhaps language is the thing more broken,
Than hungry eyes or a void shallow heart,
Looking more predator than prey,
Yet yearning to be the latter.
Wrapping wrists in chains,
The laugh and tinkle of false innocence,
But footsteps ring on wood,
And being solitary is worth more than solidarity,
Perhaps one must lock themselves in a castle,
And await a foolish prince.
Spiderwebs forever,
All tangled up in white,
Madness is aplenty,
But we are much too bright,
The lessons learned are many.
A good man in a shadow,
We’ve been told we are thusly made,
A thousand inner worries,
And a hunger never sated,
Is it easier, perhaps?
The greatest question ever asked,
Was if it was better to be born inherently good,
Or to be evil and strive at all costs towards the former.
That is the truest question of our existences.
