His brow truly burns now,
as saliva seeks
to paint tainted lips
and guilt applies itself
to his ribcage.
He treads through
precarious thoughts,
slaughtering shames
with untamed realities
and smoke rises
through eyes
of many men.
His name is a necklace
of hate,
that forms fate
around his throat
and he prays
for this day to devour him--
he's a broken man
who, too late
learns repentance,
struggling through one winter,
sensing revenge
up several sleeves
and he grieves
for lost chances
and mistakes...
and romance
and those few things
that matter,
whether wealthy
or not.
He's now first in the line,
in the night,
at the end
without might's miracles
or monetary gains;
so he stores sores away,
as secrets
drift to sleep,
to keep backs from knowing
of the nightmares
mind keeps.
He's obliged to kneel freely-
without row
or remorse,
yet the source of his soul
grabs tight to his pride
and so...there he stays,
as breath grows ever old
along sixty-eight shades
of solitary life.
Such strife kisses his lids,
while he sighs one last time
as fate forms his farewells...
and carries him home.
Gold trophy winner
Adding your comment:
Your wording is outstanding and you chose such a wonderful picture. 
Small typo, untame should it be untamed
Thank you 
abigail xxxxx
