place me back into your splendor.
on the conveyor to the incubator of the sleeping beauties.
I will be the default prince,
the messenger of the dawn of the spawning season.
meet them on the other side with the generic kiss.
an air bubble on the tip of the subdermal needle
in the kingdom of smog and mass production.
then you’ll open your gates of glory
and the waterfall will be the ladder.
8 dollars per ticket.
“secure yourself”, do you hear me?
wait for a green light,
a color of hope.