addicted to lips and eyes. too rattled to be any trouble.

 stroke still water, felt my breath sink to the bottom

of this frozen lake whose tint bleeds as a darker monster

silent, whooly blown out of proportion by my human frame

kneeled in treacherous worship as my fears grow stronger

and my paranoid floats above the crystal line shined by the star

science calls Sun and others prayed towards absolution certain of His answer.

no wonder the word cannot be stopped

lies and truth grey out post-haste once decoted by hate

a cloud makes me recognize what was once mine

or so I perhaps imagined, ballooning with pride

not a care for step, the very plants I crushed. unworthy of tenderness

thats the type of man I was, am and shall be if my legs allow me to escape

this maze for a head should I not trade its place with the cold hands

that deceive, deflect and objectively cannot see for me

peeking bird do you know whose word

as the fire consumed best from the mess

generated heat that came from grit and grinded teeth

fermentation to the blind, dust to the hungry, hope to the blameless

happy people drown in the rage Hate could not abstain

so let the parade through, please, do complain.

peeking bird do you know if it be true

that every soul is kept safe by vigil of a guardian angel

the sweats in the middle of the night do not detain

my faith in the method of madness one could obstruct

lounging for more sadness what's the point of wasting away

money, fame, beaty, stability and we all end up the same

just as well some clever people travel first class

this deviation a toxic I cannot distill, a high without comedown

a mirage whose hunger a marathon cannot quell

the same grip that two bodies magnetized together be binding

a promise without words to describe is both at fault

to the ignorant and those too wise to try. 

equality by default. ironic.

tell me bird as we interlook eyes, do you too hunger for mine?

can silence be tone deaf? how come I find myself at a lost

not an illusion but rather an echo, a repetition

the same themes in vain, the same rhythm language and words

do all souls taste the same?