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Monday, May 12
He stood in the street, an executive in a shade of grey, awakening from an empty horror
He hung his head, expecting the pounding and blood to spill uphill toward his temple
Instead a silence separate from the surrounding distractions welled within and He grew
He shed his mind's self referential image
Dying a thousand death, He paid it no mind
Heavy and cast off, as a cryptid awakening to
An unbelieving world, He took wing
Though unable to stop the flow of rivers
The Mokele-mbembe was reborn
And He found paper, sat down, lifted his chin to the sky, and then wrote these words:
It's no use
I am
And I love
And it's still no use
Today I choose to be free
He hung his head, expecting the pounding and blood to spill uphill toward his temple
Instead a silence separate from the surrounding distractions welled within and He grew
He shed his mind's self referential image
Dying a thousand death, He paid it no mind
Heavy and cast off, as a cryptid awakening to
An unbelieving world, He took wing
Though unable to stop the flow of rivers
The Mokele-mbembe was reborn
And He found paper, sat down, lifted his chin to the sky, and then wrote these words:
It's no use
I am
And I love
And it's still no use
Today I choose to be free
