Waiting Masters

Berkly lies naked on his damp couch

chip dust settles into his chest hair

and buried somewhere between his legs

lies his half dead prick.

He laughs at every corruption

and those that think they all have it figured out

like he does.

The cross carriers

the ones with the invisible friend

the fools that are holding everything back.

Berkly shifts his weight unto his back, staring at the ceiling.

And allows himself to dream.

About the day.

The day certainly coming, where he, and those like him

the Wise

will finally be running things.