glorification of a pigeoneverytime i talk to someone else, the lies pile up, and self justification becomes a mute point, and I am pulled further away it lasts with a few people for company, for a short while, but the situations dissolve and you are left with the same emptiness of feeling you pray television can remedy still you pray it is your own programming that is steering some ship into the twilight life bears down and your silly daydreams can almost piece the puzzle together as your self delusions conjure a hopeful mirage it is all you have for the moment as they continue to show up at your empty altar you've been given a control denied to others five minutes of air lets you assess the depth of fear before you are placed back into the maze the vision becomes your making and unmaking you ration sincerity like it's something to be judged, and your worth is not determined by the judgement of others though you pretend it to be so the creator has abandoned you with longings of redemption from things that need no repair, and in your wake lies destruction smiles assist the rebuilding of a ghost, and we hold onto what we need to as the debris goes on floating you cannot hold it together any better than your reflection can the road leads west into uncertainty despite what you've been told, and anything seemingly solid is the result of incomprehensible suffering or necessary luck the goddess of draught is here to figure it out notice the horizon and everything she cannot explain as she dances towards its flame no matter how hard she cries otherwise, she begs you do not follow . . .
