Let loose the hounds to slaughter this untested flesh
Tear apart the softness of this base thing
enshrouded in the warm comfort of the peace I've drawn about myself
as I've drawn and quartered the remains of what visions I had left
My vessel has run aground in a shore of molasses
too thick to navigate, too sweet to encourage want of leave
I've replicated the paragons I worship half-heartedly and piecemeal
with triteness deserving of the harshest punishments
What mockeries I make of the true, radiant genius
of all the dead saints embalmed in history's mistakes
to casually seek fame and fortune as a peacock would spread its feathers
