Counting out the seconds
Up ending comprehension
Coming forward when beckoned
Kindly teach this man a lesson
Oct 12, 2020
Oct 12, 2020 at 7:43 PM UTC
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Puffing at anxiety filtered liability.
Suffering from plausible deniability.
The sickness comes in slowed,
But acknowledges a debt still owed.
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Places to go, people to see,
Problems to know, expectations to be…
It all seems unnerving in its unraveled state,
The meaningless nature of this loaded plate…
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Idolizing the thought of idolization...
Do lofty failings offer any dispensation?
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May 27, 2017
May 27, 2017 at 8:35 AM UTC
Composed of waveforms trapped in length
Birthed in feats of dreamed up strength
Sweating out dimensions made in hand
Speaking through refractions of false commands
May 2, 2017
May 2, 2017 at 4:15 PM UTC
The mistake isn’t in pain, but its regret.
Armed with distortive apprehension
And speech too scrambled for mention
The bard chews on hollowed tune
Ushered forth in a broken croon.
Oct 29, 2016
Oct 29, 2016 at 10:22 PM UTC
Drawn serious, spelling synonyms in cereal.
Taking the meaning as literal.
Its poison's lyrical
Bolstering concern in the trivial.
Aug 23, 2016
Aug 23, 2016 at 2:08 PM UTC
This regretful overture, it hounds the drum, it persists.
Penetrating soul and bone in proof it exists.
Ignoring fault-lines held within the trysts,
And notches embroidered upon bloodied fists.
Aug 21, 2016
Aug 21, 2016 at 4:05 PM UTC
Forced to comfort by the notion of division.
Patronizing the sanctity of a poor decision.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 4:47 AM UTC
The street sign bent against an aluminum bat.
It rang out through the fall.
Woke up in a holding cell off 405.
Stumbling barefoot on Velcro laces.
Apr 12, 2016
Apr 12, 2016 at 4:26 AM UTC
Spoken in twinkled tones, over breathless moans.
Harsh is the brevity, following their levity.
Apr 1, 2016
Apr 1, 2016 at 3:11 AM UTC
Blood On The Tracks
It spoke in rhythmic transgressions, lifted from the dotted line. It held. It fell.
Polka dots made up of tiny horizontal lines, intersecting with vertical peers.
Overindulging on the semblance of fact, just to seem like they’d grown up a bit.
Self-engrossing indoctrinations to be preached out and blown over…for the rabble it was.
“When something’s not right, it’s wrong.”
Wide-eyed on sleep craved incognizance. It had all gone on too long.
They tried to force their hand, critiquing structure through the veil of a cabaret roused in the liveliest of their rooms.
Stormy shores swept to sea lit calm as the doorframe shook.
Set for a strut, intent on curbing this freshly acquired sensationalism.
Gravity logs its presence through rain dropped conviction…a steam engine sounds off in the distance...finality.
Jan 23, 2016
Jan 23, 2016 at 2:55 AM UTC