Paul! Lang

The Wooden Box

Yesterday I broke God under the weight of my expectations

Took your left hand in my left hand, through the door and through the stratospherebut not to my secret hoard of treasures, dearest bloodsucker

space and time are illusion, but I know you can't see that, weighed down as you are under pounds and pounds of sacred soil filled with the bones and nutrients of crazed Romanian tyrants

the past is always with you, but it hasn't been able to catch me yet, no one has

And you're massacred, everyday reborntorn

Kid, bring your body six feet closerMake things six feet dirtierYou're invited, always invitedIf you can keep up

Because time and space are like clay to me, existence is a game, and the ashes have their own eyes.

I didn't build this wooden box, five by three feet but I'll sleep in it, where you are and sleep until it rots away

Today God broke me with a clear expression of apathy