“I was told to wait until the world spoke of me like I no longer exist. My view from purgatory of the world’s eager wrist.”
Look up, look up, but down to see me. A reflection of the time that was, a time I didn’t want to be. Existence was a burden, one that I burned down. I once wrote of a moon, one that didn’t exist until now. The day is coming, but I won’t show my face until the night. That certain moon will mark a final shape, one that the world cannot fight.
I’m tired of watching the world’s eager wrist. So willing to die, but plagued to exist. The world is a lot like you, maybe you’re just a reflection. Time slithers you closer to my home, the poisoned-breadcrumb direction.
Won’t you wait for this night to manifest? Won’t you?
