My words are flightless birds
That have yet to meet the ground
Praised by the pitying peasants
But bound by a mad king's crown
Their songs are drowned out
By white noise
That spreads like black plague
And in the canals of their cracked grace
Muffled concertos
Flow like cascades
And every choked back utterance
And every thought that slips away
Breaks their wings
In the form
Of a backspace

My thoughts are phonetic phoenixes
For they rise and die for your majesty
To engage in raging
Against the machines
To engage in the never ending tragedy
With every death of these creatures
Scorching the inner workings of my mind
Are ashes, ashes
That leave me ashen
That leave my psyche
In a patchwork design

My heart is a ravenous vulture
Crooked and craving for carrion
It's impure and hateful
It's cruel and nefarious
It only wants what has been harmed
And demands for bloodshed
So it can mend those
That have been suffering
As it gorges upon
The emotions of others
It leaves a bitter taste
And stains its mouth black
And a heavy cloud emanates
Keeping my body
Held back