ask me what you think i know

(and when this happens, please)

try and let me slide

(because i know there’s everything out there, but)

there’s nothing here for me to know

(or attempt to know, for that matter, and)

there’s nothing here to try

(we’ll be bored like this until we die)

only if you close your eyes

(and you lose the feeling in your limbs)

only when the lights are dim

(you can truly see what they all call Him)

do Cheshire’s glint their eyes up unseen?

(does it matter?)

do strangers laugh and lilt and glean?

(does it matter?)

do holy forces wax and ream?

(does it matter?)

do mountains quake and statues gleam?

(does it?)

do harvest bloods last (only a) decent (amount of time, until the) means (justify the end,) and holding lightly

my fingered dream (is a passing love) and feeling fleeting in the stream i drown

(you) drown i drown (we all drown, with) no hand to cling

only flashing tides unknown and virtue pressed beneath

(can possibly reveal to one that mysterious nature)

the gale and thunder in the highest peaks and

shadows present in the field

(chronically, but they’re never noticed, because they are)

only this and only that

(and when added the “in” to my sane)

she said i have nothing more to lose

(but really i knew i had to choose)

but i want this and those and that

and feel no stride towards the floor

(but instead i’m drifting towards the door)

no lusting for the apple core

(no mourning for the Earth)

no more no more no nightly roar

(no more no more since my birth)

no drunken dances distant shores

(where we used to prance with blessed mirth)

no possibly neglected whore

(when the seed inside expands her girth)

no visions in the Chesire’s door

(no more, no more, no more)

no third or fourth

(let alone first or second)

no fifth galore

(but maybe sixth?)

only blood and sweat and piss and more

(all those pages i’ve burnt and tore)

the dreams i’ve had, they’re such a bore

(and in my bed there’s a restlessness inside my core)

no more no more i sleep no more