We had drawn up this road map so grand,
the highlighted route to the ending we planned,
the flutter of cards as they dropped out of hand,
the calling of Gods in dreams we understand;
poor odds follow close, wherever I am,
fleeting as granules of time-whitened sand
fickle and pickled in the spices at hand,
between promise and oneness,
that same ol’ ominous numbness,
parlor tricks performed in a deserted land;
peopled with embodied nothingness,
void of all the sugary fluffiness,
where you are is ever where I am,
when I’m asleep that’s how it stands,
I dig in the deep with my polished hands,
driven mad by a fiendish hologram;
dropped from the attached strings,
to your heart’s working guillotine,
you never came back for me,
left me miserably, deservedly
just as I am.
