Seeping through the crevices, the incense and the smoke,

binding you into their wretched arms, imploring you to choke,

Skies that awn like drapes cast over, seas that cannot cry,

Do you ever wonder why it is you scream, when your throat is so dry?

The chains that bind your hands, you did not wish to find,

The clocks that tick  so perpetually, a memory you left behind,

The saccharine aroma of such sweet lachrymose, a smile fabricating frown,

Do you ever ponder on why a monarch, would willfully abdicate their crown?

The head that pounds trying to retain, what is lost will never be found,

Those wondering eyes that swivel so desperately,  the meaningless that surround,

Hands that bend, hands that grovel, hands that reach so far,

The ones that shine will fall to ground, a Machiavellian shooting star.