Governed by the timelines of a narcissist,
Spiraled stairways leading downwards,
Into the rubbish heap.
A desolation performed by mimes,
As cartography splits apart
The mires constructed by saints,
For the perusal of angels and demons,
Who have beheld the Son of Man,
And in His sandals have found
A fragrant anarchist philosophy.
I died twice that day.
And here, upon my bed,
Disheveled. I cross the line
Between death and life,
A moment’s journey
Through the sands of time.