golden ichor dashes through my veins
of aphrodite's and apollo's
bound with beauty and harmony
only to stumble into rage and agony
no one understands this tiding, sadly
for they are not I, I am not them
never will be, never will be
of harpsichord and feminity
athwart the lane of insanity
yet no one descry me as an omega
but a filthy gamma, an unfortunate
but my ground stood still
for I am of agamemnon's asthenia
a lost for the olympians
YOU ARE READING
hidden behind these carved letters
Poesieⁱᵗ ʷᵃˢ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵖᵃⁱⁿ ʷʰᵉⁿ ˢʰᵉ ᵐᵉᵗ ᵗʰᵉ ⁿᵉʷ ᵛᵉʳˢⁱᵒⁿ ᵒᶠ ʰᵉʳˢᵉˡᶠ. ˢʰᵉ ⁿᵉᵛᵉʳ ᵏⁿᵉʷ ʷʰᵃᵗ ˢʰᵉ ᶜᵃⁿ ᵈᵒ ᵘⁿᵗⁱˡ ˢʰᵉ ᶜᵃᵐᵉ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ᵗᵒ ᶠᵃᶜᵉ ʷⁱᵗʰ ᵖᵃʳᶜʰᵐᵉⁿᵗ ᵃⁿᵈ ᵠᵘⁱˡˡ.
