Compass and Square

What began as a poem is now just a burden,
 a vicious song that's mine to keep.
 What began as forgetting is now just a prototype of ways to fight off sleep
 Arm the thieves with the wings and weights of soldiers to deepen the pockets of the meek
 Make mixtapes of other peoples problems
 and burn everyone CD's.
 Cause they've built themselves some charade
 where a saving grace is hard to find.
 What began as a song ended up as a death threat
 addressed to everyone's house but mine.
 So far confined into dead ends
 with greater love of consequence
 and a quiver filled with bad intentions
 to let them fall where they may.
 So tell them for their own sake
 Do your best to stay awake
 The burden's are mine,
 contently confined to carve the lines in acetate.
 Get the syringe.
 Let's see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine.
 It can break skin
 Let's see who feels it.
 Things have changed so little from the way I planned it
 a ventricle scarred, lined with mathematics.
 And an escape to my old best advantage
 a savagely serrated pen.
 Get the syringe
 Let's see if ink to page brings the same fear as life, love and medicine
 It can break skin
 it can't break me.
 Here's your advantage
 Things have changed so little from the way I planned it
 a scab to heal hopeless semantics
 It's all romantics
 We're all romantics.
 The math is coincidence.