I am the tired madman in the garden
Reciting words I have not heard before
Fatigued on the isles of the uncertain
Thinning me as I am swallowed on shore

I can taste the sour soot of black knowledge
Coursing through my veins, feeding me detached
Like a centerfold leading to madness
Singing praise I can feel squirm when is scratched

I see patina on stars decompose
Bleeding out, a vision caused by aura
In the redness of the dawn I repose
Flirting when I see vassals of Pandora

I hear oceans whisper from each corner
Biting the back of my nape now smitten
Like roses in the dirt you love better
Nothing I hear should be sung or written

I speak, float, dissolve into deep magic
Flooding my senses with deep joy, deep panic.
Written by Fishmander
Author's Note
Thank you for reading.
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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