So distinguished, with a powder that could entirely extinguish the sun. 

A build that could force architects to their suicide, but at least they blue print their own disaster.

Tips and cliffs perfectly placed, suggesting an end to the negative space.

Any man could be convinced of God given such a view of such a landscape.

And there I is, pioneer, spying through a grand glass tube, smudged and broke in the middle. 

Farting from boat to boat, calling myself a Bullseye dart when im naught but a domino.

Can’t it just be labeled as genuine and not boring and pedantic? Can’t they throw some sticky notes that don’t leave residue on your windshield? Can’t I have exactly what I want exactly when I want it? Can’t I have the seas part for me and no one else?

Not for lack of trying, I’ve failed at becoming the best thing God created, failed at even showing promise. 

Gumption and heart have no place on Mt. Olympus, they belong in rib cages and classrooms. 

I see my hip bones getting weaker, I feel the silver deposits lessening inside me. 

It isn’t all that bad, resigning, just not as exciting as everything else.

Less stress.