[Coup]

This is where I stand a Genius, a black hole
In a Forest, a photo image and I was front row
Black and white blotched my souls epicenter
And so it goes, leaving no holes to remember
And that's what it is, no grey, no color
No clichés, nor green shoots coming together
Amongst a Forest, planted in a time forgotten
In some shade of Nostalgia, brisk, hollow, rotten
Amongst Aged trees- skinny twisted little sisters
Unbelievably skittish with their devilish whiskers
I stand. I withstood. Bare and demanding
In this Ever-Wood

And under my shoes a river ran, glittered
Wedged in fiddled and frantic and fevered
A black road, an Auto Way of introspection
A sway of Rococo Flats dealing out life's lessons
I simply am, so dew collected, damping two eyes
Masking fear, hiding it, so it was OK to cry
And I did, tearing salted apathy, whisking away
Flushing out toxicity, tar, and with it, energy
What was left was the Past of Present peace
And a Present of one Future setting True East
Just me and the Road, unceasing to say the least
On it went, down the bend, and down more
It's end was my beginning, rising with storms

I am, so my blood was Red, and my intent Clear
Not in a dream, no, an Event Horizon, drawing near
I saw in the setting sun; everything about me
It was fleeing, unplugging to excite another corner
In another place, smothering over New World Orders
With it went my flaws, ambitions and glaring cares
Replaced by perfection declared by fear and flairs
It's aura of isotopes flickered out, and since fell back
In its absence a Shadow grows, and sick stars react
On the other side of the world, upside down, no difference
The Sun rose to routine, holding up its coexistence

Soon, a nature hardly appreciated appeared
A great depression loomed by eerie years
She is dark and deary and weeps in tears
She knew I was naked and needed a moonlight bath
Cold and pale, washing away my Sun burnt wrath
Now that she had me she said I was Genius
That being a Sun kid seemed to be so meaningless
Her depressive nature was a key to my lock
Key to reflecting and application to all ticking clocks

I then accepted my dismal existence
Happy to posses the tools of creation
And I painted with the brush strokes
Every little piece and fragment of life
So that even in my despair and darkness
A moment of pure light could be seen
And that never again will the ebb and flow
Of natures biology dictate the recess
of my mind