Thinner

[Eŋg]

Bereft, better days where I mention escape,
intention is great:
fail to follow through and momentum's erased.
Kinetic, contained - my method is flames
burning protests, white picketing fences again.
Ain't no revolution if the system you rend
draws a line to tell you where it's meant to begin,
I left you a pin, the grenade's in our locket, if
I'm late for dinner we can feign it's apocalypse.
Say little to lovers unless straight upon their lips,
stoic, a poet, but know the nature of my problem is
rooted in time I was a latent and harmless kid;
impatient but positive. Before ancient armour slid
across the limbs to betray prerogative,
blind to what the face of my father hid
- a mage with his parlour tricks made me apologist.
I may be a part of it if I stayed in the darker pits
of my mind. But strain through the loss and give
the remains of our carcasses to any who'd love you
till scent of your buds bloom and strength isn't subdued.
Pennies that punch through
the membrane's touch prove the pen isn't untrue.
Untrue?
Truth is honestly a cute anomaly used so sparingly,
youth has bothered me, since it left these bones,
cold speaks to leave its simple presence known
as my prints impress the snow. Hair is thinner.
Good thing I'm fond of the air in winter.