even the king wants to kill the king monarch butterfly knife
this is second nature's race to pistol tag his blindside
this is not a theremin it's pitch shifted hunger pains
from altruistic cynics feeding clipped wings to runaways
summer came and set kitschy indian and burning
now sisyphus laughs when i bitch about pushing thirty
worth my weight in unread books they learned to read it as charm
but abstinence burned half the perks of being a star
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...was a very funny man. But his humor was that wry, desiccated kind solders whisper, all their jokes subsurface, their laughter amounting to little more than a tic in the corner of the mouth, told as they wait together in their outpost, slowly realizing that help's not going to reach them in time and come nightfall, no matter what they've done or what they try to say, slaughter will overrun them all. Carrion dawn for vultures. -House of Leaves
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