my little sister sleeps as deep as her latin

asleep in the fire of fuck all,
we went searching amongst the bodies,
for what grains of truth could be found in history,
and instead were fed by the vibes of our own feelings.

righteousness, was a word for a passing time,
when we could seek ourselves with impunity,
and amidst the hulking behemoths of yesterday, tomorrowed
we bore wholes amongst ourselves, drained the miasma,
made mudpies, laughed at the clay evolving.

in the vein, of finding it, we would chew on rocks and ruckus,
the sweet succor found within would jazz our chilly vibe,
and the definite approach to everything, would be met
with less haste, less certainty, and just a bit more time.