Injured, Infected,

Your severe laceration

Has betrayed you yet.

Your arrogance has

Disgraced me long enough, cur,

I Shall Forsake You.

It is like water,

Blood pumping out on the dirt,

You Will Fall in Vain.

You will be missed, friend,

Yet your life has just begun,

You are forever.

The petal falls free

The tree has lost a lone child

With this, Winter comes.

As I trudge upon the path

with vigor and conviction

I stumble upon a small headstone

with the faintest chiseled inscription

-

“Here lies a man with wrath in his heart,

He knew not love or those who gave it

He said life was just a stupid game

for those moronic enough to play it”

-

As I ponder this enigma

this brilliant man and his morbid stigma

I regret I hadn’t met this man

yet I felt as if I’d known him,

a glorious eerie feeling creeps over my spine

and commands me to adore him.

-

It seems I should annihilate

what those seem to exsacerbate

and then I should come and create

what those seem to procrastinate.

-

I’ll destroy what’s highly regarded,

starting here in this casket garden,

take a hammer to this sepulcher,

the to society, the bleeding ulcer,

-

It will never end until I’ve infected

All of those who’d have me corrected,

and I will never stop believing

what my heart is always grieving.

This suicidal society

is one giant ******* commodity.

-

And as I trudge along the path

with elevated vigor and conviction

the corpse garden’s sweet song of silence

rocks me into submission.

-

As I dream this beautiful, dreadful dream,

I am calmed by this sensation:

There will come a time when I rest here,

but until then,

I fight damnation.

inspiration derives from the evocation of thought

symbolism, at times, can be cataclysm for the mind

and yet when one looks to be inspired,

until they are weary and tired,

when the earth’s ends,

can hold no trends,

they find themselves incapable,

and often times improbable,

of complimenting anything,

while criticizing everything,

and God forbid they stop and think

and look at it as a human being,

and as their ship begins to sink

a blast of thought comes after seeing

the black from scribing

eroded with the wind rising,

off the shores of the brain

to a vocabulary train,

delivering written ammunition,

after being petitioned,

and so the gallant author knight,

the reader-maiden’s arousing delight,

with his holy-tipped sword of ink

slays the scroll dragon in a blink

lawfully fixated,

and well compensated,

they sit back relieved,

finished with what had them aggrieved

until a source of new light,

causes rupturing delight!