stylite theme

making out with lost time

tasted iron on her lip

plagued water, fire under the ship

albatross on the lift, tied loose n i’m starting to slip

this spire where I sit, 

getting higher every evening 

can’t touch this

peeking down at the street songs ring like mist

and fall like bricks

you can’t touch this

serch for hammer, 

shouts to hanif,

serch for hammer

     hand formed ice only stacks so high, fore frostbite clamors, 

and feigns to fire

but i keep getting higher on this spire where I

making out with lost time tasted iron on her lip 

faith it was her piercing I, didn’t say shit

got home, there was no trace of cyan in spit, 

I ran to the pit, jumped in, mired in a fit,

quick sand’s quick man, ire isn’t grip