- Books, Literature, and Writing
Give it to me you don’t know how to use it properly
Now go and sit in the corner quietly and do not breath.
After a few minutes I will start the cutting of your fingers.
Then you will be without reach to the paper and ink’s moment
It is mine
Her him that are just not worthy
It is not of this conception of circumstantial universes
You are not even real here your just a bad thought dying
There isn’t time there isn’t pleasure there surely isn’t me.
In this twinkling of my damaged star It will never speak.
The eyes of you them and the other are not capable of reading.
I am most certain that the tree growing underneath my patient moons reasoning
Will scream out for my and only my attention and not yours or hers or his or they.
But it will be in that moment above all other previous incantations and fables
That I and my souls ink will bleed out for they her him and you the answers you seek
By then and now and the present future with a bow and a card that reads too late
Its ancient its thirsty and dry and dead yet through us miraculously alive and so hungry.
Chant to it
Die in it.