“Betta”

I live on a five-veined fish

As an Atlantic Pacifist

Born Free, Wild Caught

Paroled, Unhinged

Attached To Nothing

Attracted To No one

Yet Exists Viscously

A Drenching Quench Against

The Thirsty Dust of My Daughters Bones

Of which, with Gods, they’ve picked by hand.

I’m an Oilskin That Beads

The beating reign of Matriarches

that hath daggers

Drawn Like Conclusions

Towards their temples; aimed.

This is what happens when annointing…is spread thin.

The lox of mine heir

Share a key to a door

A few men too many

throw themselves into

With hopes of delving through

Only to be snared

In 9sus4’s and bungie

Chords I’ve chosen to hold the tears in

Eyes water not the Flourescence; electrically grounded from going outside

disallowed to peer out into the crowded blinding light of the sun.

For Lucifer's a light bearer, too, sir.

some glad mourning.

When my life has lost its autumn, I'll go south to keep warm

With a breach birth dawned beneath each arm

Successfully flying, or dying while trying.

A Suicide by side, simultaneously selfless and selfish

Asphyxiation by way of peanut butter and petroleum jelly sandwiches

Because that's all I have to FEED them.

I need them to not ever know they were poached.

Eye knead them

like the air I breathe

To never know what disgusting things they were wanted for.

We will not...discuss such things.

We--I, myself, and me..will keep our mouth...sealed.

And the silence will mean no debate will bait me

Regardless the temptation of opening up such a can of worms

By animating my lips to speak.

The meek shall inherit the earth

The weak shall compare it with mirth

What they thought they had and what we have

The laughter of past innocence, versus their sinisterness.

I live...as a five veined fish

One ventricle, One valve

Headaches for days and open-eyed sleep

That never Rapid Eye Movemen' tembers

Falling out of the frying pan

And into any fire.

My drive's for them.

It tires me. Flat.

The wrong notes.

Off key and kilter to some,

But the song remains the same

And it's probably a blessing

For you to not understand

That kind...of pain.

I think I'm better off...alone.

--Tr1umph@nt!