chaos arising,
from the boy beyond the thorn,
i tried to describe him,
as the crowd began to swarm,
“hear me out”, he cried,
emaciated and forlorn,
said “I’ve met horizons,
beneath the fabric we adorn”,

blame the burden of dissent,
there’s no shame in playing dead,
it’s just a means to an end,
i’m just a concept in my head,

conscious devices,
stalk the outlines of the map,
post-modern and spineless,
talking heads have grown detached,
cleanse the throne, and hide,
assimilate into the black,
the critic’s in crisis,
as we burn the second act,

blame the burden of dissent,
there’s no shame in playing dead,
it’s just a means to an end,
i’m just a concept in my head,

toe the line,
of frail authority,
the echoed absence of your love,

the future comes and goes,
weaves through broken sleep,
a fever dream of consequence,

sheltered from the glow of our infancy,
gestating ambition with idle seed,
failure to obey the maternal fist you feed,

cult of the infallible,
rule from this pedestal,
occupy a place in me,

blame the burden of dissent,
there’s no shame in playing dead,
it’s just a means to an end,
i’m just a concept in my head,

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