I trust
you will do right
for me (be yourself, be free)
grime in the scale
a blockage
envicerating the trem
towards not blance
and therefore
purpose.
I hope (because how can I trust)
not in the
stepping stone of a mistake
turning failure into a river
that powers the will
feeding both Ego and Mind
poisoning
accidental, unplanned
a fruit of labour, never of love
lovers have one another
animals can lust too
democracy forged by hot mocca
for the love of god open the fucking door
why pray drum the shaman distain
should be it tried 'on'
surprise just be the same
individual highlights that could
if we do meet in hell father
I will kill you myself
not, in the miscalculation
of a spider weaving a
web of deceit
a trail of lies
at length cruel and predatory
at odds with incoming trails
clashes and colapses
like a eaving connection bends
roof to overhang and blood debt
lingers uninvited to my very funeral.
____________________________________________________________________________________
I see blues and slipped veiled masks
all it took was a second of my time
adulthood is realizing some are destined not to make it
and to tear oneself heart apart should you have sympathy:
be a monster after you do.
what is the meaning in admiring Nature
and breath in the fragility of a sunrise
what good is the sadness swimming inside
empty and small
warm to navigate, heavy just the same.
stirring the pot cannot dissipate poison
lingering shadows cast a grim scene
evident by the lack of saviours
no appeal for the whereabouts
nor guidance towards open gates
if there is a call it be demons and unspoken wrongs
what macabre fatality that one must break
in order to rebuild and heal one must tear thyself apart
to steal the opportunity from further harm in uncontrolled measures
by those that want to take more than they wish to partake
grey matter is no more my legacy than chances felt short
a miscalculation necessary to infuse colour to the Grey.
growth can be unconfortable, untapped
question, is a mirror necessary to identify oneself?
how can one take stock without losing track
fading from realization to
the Grey stream: even in despair and contentment
a dangerous proposition to have just enough.
