Through smoke and fog and rocky soil
I force tongue and mind, an intricate dance
An orgasm at the possibility of light on
The other side of a suicidal romance.
We used to breed thought, but now are content
To sit and stir the pot, waiting for another breath to come.
To throw hammers at walls we've built of dust
To fall out windows in a rapists run.
There's no sense anymore, it seems
Everything has fallen apart in a race for repairs
A jungle of handcuffs and puppet strings, murder
As wholesome as incest at the next county fair.
Let the insects in, over dream and bleeding knee
To cover your eyes in shades of satire and malcontent
Another puzzle piece of flesh and deception
Another hint to where the angel went.
Author notes
I realized today that I hadn't written more than a grocery list since January of 2006, so I decided to give it a go. Be gentle, it's been a while.
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