good god what exactly
have we done with our restraint?
because we're blatantly denying
the only truth we thought
we'd guessed lucky.
and i don't know what to say
anymore
if the floor is
slipping from under our feet,
and we're too obnoxious to
even try and stop it.

exactly what are you going on about
if the goings on are
still trapping us in redundance?

last happy medium defined in
the lines of the priestess,
cluttered wings of the feast
that's pleasing the masters,
we're leaving these caverns with
bloodclots.