::Pestering Patina::

Sometimes the comfort of a lost crime is salted to be swallowed
Like fishing through mindspace
Hopping between these unnamed streets
I listened to the drums
I glared upon the white noise that abandoned it's quality
Chose it's own coloures
And I do now live in a pixelated bank note
What isn't of worth can always be bought
And that thing we call what we feel
Exchanged without value

The patina that comes from my excited self
Pestering my uncontrolled self-laid traps
I didn't fall at all this isn't pessimism
It's just me exhausted from simpleton mindplay
Like predicting the rows of polka dots
Sleep inducing task

And I miss the old patina

Of rounding mosaic piles
Of listening to the beats and sounds made from the heart
Of having the best fucking meal made by another
Or the patina of chance at all cost and honour at all crusaders
When the average day dithered between breaking and mending
When the patina shook like the cover fabric of speakers
How I miss my patina...the beautiful kind