Fleck of metal slip between his veins
and anger melts his eyeballs into dust.
The sun of his ideas stare angrily at the shadows of truth
in a staring contest she can never win.

Heavily the mallet crushes each of the moles on his face.
His skull, punished for the folly of his mouth.
And his teeth clench tighter.
Reality fades, darkness consumes the nobody he is.

'Whoops' his mind thinks to nobody in particular.
But the only listener is dribbling sticky circles at his ankles.
Like the star-stammered sky before him, he is delivered
on the screaming wind and placed as heavy dirt on the warm autumn trees.

He stains the earth below him.
Slamming his face against the mirror
as the high pitched keening of his thoughts
finally causes the bubbles in his ear to burst
and cause the blood to dribble d
o
w

n


He forgets his fucking revolution,
as he bleeds through the ear.

Penned by my hand on the 23rd of Chakros, in the year 209 MA.