A drifter

A drifter,
owing my ability to abstraction
amused at the impossibility of eternity
holding my head high
while going for slaughter

The mass,
with every breath each man takes,
they will never surpass each other,
least of all themselves.

Perfection to ruin,
ruin to perfection
I owe these eyes
to mother of all.

]s$t[

knitting patches

picture hollow in the presence of my breath
sinking deep into the air of calamity
what I am is diverse
what I am, divert me from the straight path, 
following the current with no heart nor soul

i request not but for silence
the beauty of the soundless creation
cushioning my soles, my eerie idiocracy

come now come not,
fear of being let free
far stretch my zero existence
far too good
far from tears,
knitting the patches is our addiction

]s$t[