Raise the cost of compass and purchase for your gain the purpose of fucking loss.
Divide the dividends so that they fray elongated dust and I must combust.
Why so many tonight’s when so many days turn every effort a dungeon.
Thoughts tearing into flesh and beating the uptick with a heavy bludgeon.
I’m not alive or awake or to take I might a path of desire to be free that of such I lust.
The chaos of knowing everything is the deer in deadly closing stars while in the hunters sight eating moss.
-M