NO MORE

I'm done with it, done I say,

with finger pointed into the ionic sky falling

in celestial envelopes,

curtailing in the novice shell shock,

of galvanized intricacies,

conforming the shrill whispers,

of an ambient cosmogony,

rebirth is the only thing I crave,

eternal variations of it,

extinguishment is a kind of hell,

I would rather be full and happy in heavens,

than empty and miserable in all of the hells they crafted for me,

emancipated courtesies of an evincing source,

culminating in the surefire omniscience,

of an obstructive ontography,

born to anticipate the anatomy of denials,

that anticipates the destiny of permissions,

that galvanize our option,

into the surefire obliterations,

of their place between options

of Gehana and elevation,

in places absolute and relative,

to the distain of ambulatory assessment,

where I am the enemy of myself,

no more.