Queenlash

Why should we survive this, who would be there if we did? Do you feel from your statues? In your busts, do you dream? Why not die, if it kills you not to? The problem for a queen is she is one place, one people, incarnated godhood chained to a self worship. We feel as we do, forced to be a mastery, the master in the mirror is the medium, autochthon artist, but I, I am an undefined, protean in describabbles, those who resist my boundless empress me in compass, I am all the unknown in the bleeding to reach. Ghosts dance my polytones, the bones of my colossus bridge my whys keystones. Why should you see me as who I am, when that has never been enough for me?