Thoughts Of A Deadman

In this grave I rot
Decrepit thoughts
Eat away at my flesh
Like maggots
My soul incased
In plastic
Cause the conception of the flesh
Ran this factory
And produced rotten fruit
To pressure the mental
Into a greater experimental
State of gentle
Well-being
My fingers had to frolic
On many pages of warm harmony
To reveal a wider visor
Of visionary mastery
A complex mystical being
Or a cynical generic feeling
To pleasure this frame
In which my frame of mind
Is incased behind gates
Until it broke free
I fished in a sea of seals
Which withheld emotions
Consequently left me fleeing
From gentlewomen
Who sought to grace my presence
With the essence
Of sacred text to morph my
Cerebral into a spiritual Sheppard of absolute being
The exponential potential
Of man plus the prince of peace
Raised to the square root of infinite
Equals strong praise
And everlasting life.