#dead year

If you want to hear a joke about how time passes ask someone else. I won't fool around with history unless in some scenario I come out fighting. I would like to say how I once broke a man but I would be lying. Instead I floated in my own blood, became a ditch for unweighable violence. You are no one to talk about an anniversary. Now I know how to unbecome a tweaking animal for however many innings it takes.

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Again I eat until I peel off into ribbons, scatter myself all over the neighborhood. Let's play the game where you hunt me through the year and I am never found. This life is for rickety commitments, stitches up to our throats. I see myself living beyond analogies while you stay ordinary. What I murmur into the future will not make me special but what I make I can easily kill. I remain perpetually off cycle. See, I am classically trained to the bone.