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The solace of the distance besieged

The abyss snapping at the heels

A grimy scab on the forehead

Ongoing fear

The three-headed serpent became

A lizard without a tail to drop again

Smoldering embers

Scattered in the mist

Odd, small thinking particles dancing

At the mercy of the wind

A deafening silence

A race without end

Spirits bound to the wheel of Ixion

So that’s what’s left

Frustration rising from beneath the earth’s core

Rooted so deep, fossilized

Elusive creations stroll through the past

Phagocytized lost inner child

Betrayed, shrunk, and disowned

Smoldering embers

Scattered in the mist

Odd, small thinking particles dancing

At the mercy of the wind

A deafening silence

A race without end

Spirits bound to the wheel of Ixion

So that’s what’s left

In the trenches of memory

Layers of quicklime, ashes, and mold

Overlapping lives

Reaching a dead end all at once

An old pariah, slave of nostalgia

Pushed to an endless, relentless flight

Fighting a hopeless war

Now that it’s futile to pull out the vestigial roots

Ephemeral, utopian, castrated past

Mesmerized, paralyzed

Like a river running dry

Awakening

Tight chains and a scourge

Blind eagles

Free falling towards the ground

Ruthless surrender

Now that it’s futile to try to pull out the vestigial roots