Vistas - Baptists

Arson of crystals

Drenched innards sing

Barter with boredom

Bleached at the seams

Dulled edge for training

Till the sharp one’s in need

Doused with a primer

Painted till sealed

Aside from this blizzard of fuel

I feel fucking nothing

Scabbed cuts don’t bleed much, you know

Till ripped off and opened

Pissed up on downers

Sunk down on paste

Promising vistas

Discovered through waste

Aside from this blizzard of fuel

I feel fucking nothing

Scabbed cuts don’t bleed much, you know

Till ripped off and opened

This padding I wear when I’ve found

An absence of distance

Our bodies aren’t temples, it’s true

They’re bomb testing grounds

Vistas