My greatest love is yet but an instrument of the devil…

Projectile vomiting a plane coercively laid out to precision..

The book of life wasn’t written by men.. But it’s words are reverberated by men.. Twisting tales to suit the desires of the storyteller…

Who tells my story but me.. It’s clear for any to read.. It’s there in plain sight… Word for word..

And yet, I still am illiterate to it’s doctrines and stimagtisms..

And my poet laureate is the whore of Babylon… I’m to trust the words.. written and passed down from generation to generation.. To be translated and orally dictated to me by a whore?

The whore of a fuckin whores..

And I believe her… Because I’m infatuated.. Not in love but in love with the thought of being in love..

And through the pale moonlight… My sins are addressed… Made evident.. And thrown in my face… These sins aren’t my story just a mere footnote..

These sins never defined me.. But let the whore tell it…

Her sweet lies, I’ve grown fond of…
As a Siren…I’m transformed… Her melodious references are constantly hypnotizing and reinforcing what I ain’t but what I should be… Such a splendid melody…

Death by desire…

Reengineer my soul while you’ll at it.. You’ve already disfigured my body.. Encroached on my birth rite..

Yet despite the lies… My story will one day rewrite itself…
DNA plastered upon the surface of the galaxy… Words.. Whispering.. Through the stardust…

My story will verberate through the twinkling of the stars…