Justice

Gilded secrets, gold secretions flowing forth. Lost in the juice and the meat was the rawness of the hunt, at the moment of the final strike of grace. Per the order issued by my superiors, I may only walk the plank. May I be drunk on the dark wine of the waves carrying on past the last sunset. Time to jump. How driving ever took on a moral nature is within my grasp, perhaps, but not willingly. Some truths of the steel and plastic gears that turn the world are better as toothless crazies in asylums. Faulting and halting, loft and soft, yearning and burning. Is this the broken last you shall not leave, all that you never see in light of day? Hold it, rapids of consciousness. How shall I keep with the torrents?