Words

I'm losing touch with this

I'm losing frame of mind

I'm getting lost in the effortless

And trying hard to find

A purpose to this needlessness
Some safety, and some time.

My words are found more tame these days

My brain has found it's purpose

But if I, in that, have lost myself

My words will find no service

Conspire against the one that serves you

in order that you may not be served. A request

you make unto yourself and fulfilled by it's originator

has no greater purpose than to self-propagate.

Therefore, find yourself a new steed, ivory, lined with gold

and with it claim the hearts of those who

have plotted against you, their drip with envy, yet they

dare not see another in your stead. Rejoice.