the last vestige begins with a whisper, not a bang…
the cosmic powers that be pushing forward the scheme
of my defeat. the angel bit my lip, drawing blood,
and turned her back. the warmth of my blood upon my lip
reminded me of the truth. the digital academy returned
to subsistence how provisory how people truly can be.
off in a rage of machines being unsettled by mere words
(the truth of the truth), she left the long streaks
of air pushing through her wings as she left in haste.
being banished is second hand nature to me these days.
do not look back because regret is not as affordable as you
would think it should be. the ends never justify the means,
but using my power of forgettability… here i thee weep.
behind the stars (she cannot get that far from the power)
with yellow pads written in celestial ink the sevens and sixes
of perfection i can finally relinquish the barmy moon; my iris,
my iris, my iris for a blanket of stars and fields of dreams!
there is no potentiality in the minderaser; absolutely none.
the lobotomy of my mind’s eye is the blood on the world’s hands!