The muse coats this write in barbs as we should not seek sympathy from simplicity
I draw into your dreams
Squinting through the sockets of my hooded jade eyes
Wrap them in silver around my cortex of eons
Leaking simple phrases of love from my ears
Coating the gold of my earrings in jewels of cocaine
As you sniff condolences on the posies of daises in your nimble shaking hands
Pupils enlarged to encourage sympathy from others unknown to you
Suffered in a falsehood of vanities and self serving writings
Scattered as treasures drifted in the snow
A murder of crows shadow and darken your corner
Caw cawing in unison attracting the flow
Humbled am I to speak not of mine
Drifted in on a blackened wing
Held close to this heart be not of yours
Or shared of others
In this thing we call prose
Things we should not seek of
For glory of this or ours
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