Gonebones
Subtle

the pastna definite nothing much,nbiproduct of the heights of flesh and such.nnet weight of one's ghost, got...na solved version of a former you,nnot congealing on the ceiling of your present song,nas it's greys reach off into gone.na bread end egg,nif ever there was one...nnnigh are those long gone bones on me...nnthe presentnthe bread basket of choice...nthe all mighty and bone holding now,nwhere the day wears down on your direction and dive.ndripping its sadmath in the brief breathe slide,nof every second sucked into the pearl that becomes you...nnnigh are those long gone bones on me...nnthe futurenthe future is fully opposable.nstatistically there are no present plans of actions took,nthat can truly and entirely ever affect it,nnor set its effects completely to a certain more desirable strain of so...nnin factnto the thinking thing,nit is a killer black,nan unpredictable and all devouring trap.nit is a hollow in the mind, begging to be let out and bleach the now,nignite the unquiets of the often fear-eyed and endowed skull.ndrawing the stinging things to mean,nout like a present danger does the venom.nare but a swarm of ants to tremble on its handgun...nthe blood on its shield...na single swallow to its honey-smothered winds of wield...nnto it your death is a factnto you an axennnigh are those long gone bones on me....

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