dehydrade, starve thus a suffocating waiting.

tack

overrated mistep have lead me astray

so far as they can tell me 

denying me this nostalgia

this sickening familiarity that binds me

shadow pray tell me what figure seeks to suffocate me

what lines and dark whispers, cracked half-words and blurred faces

this hope, this saudade, this half-hearted wave of a divine soul

I would chop it, sap it, get a fat straw up that bitch

clear house without need for a knife

nor help from a wife to know the meaning of my life.

 

a dread that left me for dead

this self contained distance has a purpose

a masterplan that enquotes whatever I meant I said

the rust of times begone will free the shackles

the anchor has been sealed bound to a new route

and should the dust settle so too I shall merge

bone to earth and dirt no longer condescending

a less fucked up erotic bend of flesh, call me crazy

all I might beg for should my tongue turn

whiplash from wishing to take what was not mine

restless and unsettled 

do not bury from on my back as that sounds mundane.

 

strangers do not aproach me for I do not give in

I do not offer silence, an empty smile in calm control

they do not confide, I no longer appeal to the wounded

to those whose tears need hiding

jesus christ has perhaps left this vessel of advise

how can irony poison ever so wicked That hope for better days

where I may stand still and observe quietly without disturb

and so my walking tomb is now the abundance of this goodness

 

I fear that same liberating scream will incriminate me and inprison me

a jacket is not that much better company 

I gather from the ill, the enferme and the weak

those who feel low, blue or on the knock-down agenda

as if they no longer belong and cannot kick that habit as it bites strong

I keep them all in my prayers every single night.

 

can grace bend

can blood wash away real realization

for true hunger cannot be felled

do not bring doom, gloom and evil to thy neighborhood

disengage with these malpractises and carnal ways at the frontier

no son, that chark is a body mark

shallow hard at the sight of this dark omens

breath harder, take notice of the infection

mine now, mine.

left alone in the wake of dawn

tick.