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Storm Center

de Tilt

You've captured my imagination, charasmatic mess, in the wake of your
devestation, I'm your best work yet. Fascinating back drop of romantic
poverty, obsessed with herbs and healing cures, obsessed with healing
me! But you're the one that's dying, a sudden downpour fading fast,
rapidly unwinding to a bitter draft. Around your high poetic brow,
around your pleasant neck, a veil of grandiosity competes with epithets.
You're better off relying on meteorology than to keep on justifying why
you impose on me. Your path of mass destruction will blow right by me
now, you dissipate your energy you cannot knock me down.

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