Monarch's Madness

-Monarch's Madness- As I’m sitting here, enjoying monarchs’ fingers of a dead man…The dry smoothness of the night. I privy the requisite. In the discomfort, of comfortability…Watching time go by. There’s this thought that runs wild in the head; that of parameter. It’ll be an interesting year. Schrödinger’s cat. Is fate alive, tethered? Or has it yet to enlighten the veil? The field of captivation is astounding. The wonderland grasping. Thou throat, of one’s mind. When does thee catch a break? It is inherently rhetorical. A silent mocking. Not enough substance for a jay, presumably. Could this really be the start of an end? Or the end of a start? I’d like to know, where I am to be situated in this universe. Rather than basking as an idol in adolescence, pondering head notions that do not exist.