What is that smell? Some kind of plastic burning, some decayed carcass in the Summer Sun, my own ego left out to weather the storm exposed and worn. Overwhelming aroma of golden piss staining all your clothes. My sex is with the broken flesh, the empty field, the solemn guard left sleeping at the gate.
Folded away like a perfect white paper, filed away in the circuits of your ignorance, I sit and shine in no one's direction. I will one day be a butterfly, I will move past this chrysalis and flutter around the beautiful and unreachable crest of your face. Love is a game that I lost long ago, so lets just call it a tie.
Oh low, sparkle and falter on your sturdy earthen pedestal as my judgment makes reality shiver in the cold. I will never know a thing my dear, but I feel it all. The love shelters me as I vomit in reverse.