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Color me deficient A stunningly foolish try-hard In the coils, of a serpentine world
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There are only open plains And still lifes on a loop In this cracked frame of mind So few chaotic words To claim the disturbed For uprooting the stern The cool and assured I have nothing surreal To budge the unashamed From their angelic forms To the arms Of their snarling madness The truth Is…
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I’ll crumble, at my own rotten hands A fate better than the wrath Of traitorous friends I live to implode To unravel myself At the hour of my choosing When I can squeeze nothing more From this life Desolation awaits for me When the wires in my mind Have frayed And my voice grows tired…
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I’ll be damned if I remain In this low-down, wavering state Under the phases of the moon Farewell, to this spell of mourning For these victimized bones that spoil Far after their demise There can be, no more of this night For I yearn to dig From the wood and the satin That has bound…
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The day is so tragically squandered In the closing vise Of an indisposed mind The vileness it crafts Looms through to the dusk Through the barrenness of night Once full and inspiring And barely alive By a weakening thread It implores for peace And to earnestly breathe
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A mother fears for this world How easily it unfurls As her son, is enthralled to embark A mother’s fear is within And by daybreak it swells And roars to a thundering collapse He is sullen, penniless, and mute In eternal reverse On a homeward trek Each hour Succumbed to the terrors That were never…
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She’s just as withdrawn and winded Being kicked along By the cruel trudge of time She is honest and drab And faithfully morose Engulfed in her past By the blare of her war-time trials She has carefully aged To savory perfection At home in the ether Somewhere, I’ll roam On a day of great fortune…
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Refuse And slip from the binds From the guilt-ridden corpse Of the free and the brave
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Plodding Through the high arc of the reeds As the black waters steam And my limbs are reduced Into ashes adrift Like a family’s farewell A funerary quest From my seasons of quarrel Soon the waters will calm As I grind To a pitiful gasp And my thrashing Will dismally fade As the reeds arc…
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Little slips past me today I retain every deed Every trespassing word Of disloyalty It will soon Overflow and breach And true friends will succumb As the vile aims higher and higher So little, can be forgiven In this scorched state of mind Where the hate flows free From dawn Few, can be reprieved In…
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