Do it right or fail to manage to create anything at all of the self-righteous, -riotous, reckoning – the brand spanking new ‘hygge’
 
Meditating with their fists on the cusp of their guttural surrounds, it flatters themselves to see it, seize it…
 
And lies miserly within the dilapidating darkness of two rooms over and intricately above the beyond of his professionally entangled hands, the imperfect pianist ponders, squanders
A few hundred thousand other dangerously inexpressive notes of his own
 
Precariously straddles and steals – steels – it all back together again, wherein musically developmental adultery just must amount to something significantly arisen
 
And that beatback piano narrows, nurtures, its route to the ghastly, ghostly, truth – appears to just about bend and terrifically attire itself God-like
Till left itself looking heavenly pristine – it’s been an all black or white socked individual all along and carries with it this insipid existence, plagiarised insistence
 
Is the human rickshaw beneath its far-reaching, -reacting, feet really the same shape of its showpiece, shoe-piece?
Need to know it
 
No ulterior design, thanks for attempting to ask it something it doesn’t already know of… rather resolutely asphyxiated
Drips in blue horizon delirium and pushes the pain against the circumference of the sellout sun
 
When the indoor harvesting of the million dollar chandeliers atop cracked bottles of crackling sweetheart pale ale tend at typically announcing, sensationally mouthing, their very own gesticulating feelings midst incredulous rounds of habitual liquid persuasion
 
A trapped addict knows no other way but for the swiping reach at another such burgeoning reality
And a big fat lighter lights all of their crystalline fires, metaphorically in many a peripheral insistence albeit cuts right across the board of bohemian rhapsody
 
The fallen empire is posthumously all of it bodaciously theirs and it’s been thinking about winking at them again
 
Like a bitch in multi congruent heat. it leans on and just had to ask it, but “wherever is that whispering cheat-sheet we swore we wouldn’t bring with us since the beginning!?”