If you've seen me in this scene, then why are we staling..
thru and throughout, it's a session..
that we needed for admission of defeat..
to solidify the perdition and the elevated conjuring of essence,
this bitter ambivalent presence...
That smile and matching sun glass glare..
the empty manipulative stare that I no longer wish to posses..
the prophet swings on vines of vinyl..
and locks the room with his personal key...
Animinated, smiles abound and kill the jaded..
you feel elated, in a haze develop scenes for the persuaded..
by the foreward thinking integrated..
from the bird nest aim to shoot the elevated..
Prime numbers around the room..
they jump without rites or consequence..
and in the ultimate outcome and gloom..
they become golden when placed in perfect sequence..
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