The mass revolution-
sutures up my arm,
where I’ve torn away the flesh touched by your fire
I can’t do these things forever.
My heart is not so strong.
It is beating like its not sure how much longer it has
like its afraid that the blood in my veins will find another host
one with something better to offer.
how many labors must i toil through
to gain the worth of gods
or just one person
falling into that pit
that you’ll call home
in a different way
The gears between us grind in ways
that will turn supports into cinders
and burn the bridge we came in on