the architect

I’m tired of
building empires that don’t stand on
anything but chance;

yeah, there’s fancy
but they only house the rich,
taxpayer-subsidised cliques,
old dogs up to old fucking tricks,
walking contradictions all

yeah, those stone
paved fictions we brown nosed instead
of opposed,
addicted to
getting blown on the third date; it’s a
sickness, sticking dicks in a lawnmower for
material gain.

There ain’t nothing but pain
chasing your fifteen
and god
forbid you
finish prematurely,

virtually a minute man in the eyes of other kings,
one step above the eunuchs.

now I’m feeling
like Cupid firing poison darts in the space between
arrested hearts,
because I built up
an empire
others solely wanted ripped apart.

My army’s in the streets now
watching riots pull the windows down,
glass shattered outward and from
a bird’s eye view
I focus
on you,

whom I built this city up for,
who leads its wards
to all night looting like
some suicide bomber stumbling
in the dark.


One thought on “the architect

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s