Warfare of the Brain -
The One Who Hears the Cries of the World
Blessed is the bolshie one who believes,
While her crystal tear is worn neck-round,
In solus – not the smears She breathes.
Three joss sticks: light them and leave
As my hollow, empty hopes resound;
Cursed is the childish one who believes
That their prayers are deemed worthy.
For the only true mantra that is sound
Is in solus – not the smears She breathes.
Though this chain, willingly worn, weaves
Kin-formity, holds me forcefully bound –
Just like the pendulum one who believes
The desperate cries of the world deceive
Her deaf, opal ears: turns them, downed,
In solus – not the smears She breathes.
I don’t mind karma worn on my sleeves
Or whenever my icy infidelity is found:
So blessed when the bolshie one believes,
In solus – not the smears She breathes.
“I said I’ll do it alone, 妈咪,” but you’ve become the necklace, interwound.
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