MattHovey

These Cold spiked, metal mountains With spires erect with the purpose of reach The heaving, broody bowels below Alternative notions of the beautiful in darkened spaces Walk through the hail of driven bullets Dodging left, stride on, weave right, stride on The sudden jolts waking me from a lunchtime malaise And then I Stop ... Close my eyes. I Listen ... This.  The pulse of a majestic city Perfectly composed; chaotic, alive Coalescence a footnote; the beat defined I.  It's sadistic master.  It's masochistic slave Drawn to this flame; a repeat offender Savagery lurks in it's taunting shadows Yet always alluring ... always ... mine.

These Cold spiked, metal mountains With spires erect with the purpose of reach The heaving, broody bowels below Alternative notions of the beautiful in darkened spaces Walk through the hail of driven bullets Dodging left, stride on, weave right, stride on The sudden jolts waking me from a lunchtime malaise And then I Stop ... Close my eyes. I Listen ... This.  The pulse of a majestic city Perfectly composed; chaotic, alive Coalescence a footnote; the beat defined I.  It's sadistic master.  It's masochistic slave Drawn to this flame; a repeat offender Savagery lurks in it's taunting shadows Yet always alluring ... always ... mine.

What matters most of all        is nothing This indefinable piece of    the null, the void For it is with the silence of naught we begin to understand that it is        ok.