Overbear

There is no more cool,
from this moment on, woman,
only cold and hot,
so just rephrase all of your emotions,
let’s get our pitiful selves,
updated to this latest century,
before risking to presume any further,
in advertising what really ain’t here anyway.

Stuffed alive or shelved dead,
feels great existing on either rim,
where your haughty throne,
has had its damn legs publicly dismantled,
and fed to the fire or your big mouth,
judging cards simply crossed,
along with the rest of what’s barely left,
then finally hung prominently upside down.

Crashing your full glasses through clouds,
an unknown payment for those lucky few below,
fist shaking to a threat not meant as personal,
taken beneath and plugged the hole,
while promises of a supposed lofty forever,
disintegrate in this imperial absolute blackness,
meeting even our revered wizard deep inside,
still hopelessly sporting his manic brooms without shame.