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Memory is fiction, so the past is your invention |
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Catch yourself, self-dissect, how youth outlives age |
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How beauty shames skill |
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Prayer is for dependents and wish is for the will |
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A struggle for independence, a harmless stage |
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Art gaining post-mortem fame |
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Oh Creatice! |
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Your vibrant portfolio has never shown as brightly |
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As your latest masterpiece |
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All efforts' fruition in such a wondrous offspring |
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How did you manage a piece so perfect? |
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Entrancing passers-by to lock eyes and gaze, hypnotized |
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Overcome with a need to outdo the last |
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A child born so dependent rebels so quickly once he has his footing |
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Forgets who and where raised him and how he came to be |
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But a growing pain cannot explain behavior of the like |
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A perfect child deserves the best |
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But at the cost of what else did you instill this need |
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To over-consume without regret? |
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Broken pencils, charred marble drafts |
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He leaves destruction in his path |
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Your one mistake, oh great |
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CreaticeWas giving too large a brain(This organ, like disease, can disseminate beyond your reachYou didn't predict this, a carnal rebellion in its wake) |
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Strike back with forces beyond his reach |
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That even six billion can't defeat |
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Go lock up the aggressor, quarantine before it's too late |
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Bred to lose sense of consequence |
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In his greed he exhausts your milk, your blood, your shelter... |
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Don't let him escape! |
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Memory is fiction, so the past is your invention |
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Catch yourself, self-dissect, how youth outlives age |
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How beauty shames skill |
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Prayer is for dependents and wish is for the will |
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A struggle for independence, a harmless stage |
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Art gaining post-mortem fame |
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Throw your blood upon his lands, your skin cracked and depleted |
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Suck the air out from his lungs, expose him fully, let him burn |
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Show him to appreciate, discipline the cruel ingrate |
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You still have theh power to reshape - do not let this escalate |
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Vapors vanish in the night, statuesque guards seconds too late |
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What rebellion possessed thee? |
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A dangerous subterfuge, a lonely rampage, anxious fleet |
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Like limbs tumbling horizontally |
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Now it's too late - the child has escaped! |
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Indignant ties, parental constraints |
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A child protected sets self free |
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And the ingrate will lie in the bed he has made |
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As a self-imposed apocalypse finally sets |
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You free |
