An Ode to Sequential Youth


Find a place where youth can lie with wisdom.

You must discover it, but never search.

For searching is such a feeble task one with steady lacerations.

Find him where he will hold your besotted heart from liquors of rich quicksilver.


Tear your ribcage and let ignorance fly to that foriegn island on which the sun has set.

And remember you cannot yield, not yet. Not until the sun has set.

The darkness it will come, oh, it will flood.

And it will take form in a beautiful maiden.

With beautiful bleach hair and a malignant breast.


It is in that land in which the sun has set where the pensive men gather.

And please, do not ask of the men what they were in a time long ago.

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