Prayers downpour
like cremated birds,
falling on tombstones
made of glass.
Passing shadows nod
in solemn greeting.
Bread for the feeding
of psychotic worms
and brimstone mushrooms.
I mourn with laughter
and greedy tears,
this brackish silence.
Then I pass,
just a shadow amongst shadows.

Bring out the reams of broken dreams
so we can charter buses to hell.
Do tell, my friend,
of promises fallen to shade.
Ancient tales of rust,
of lust left unsated.
Holes dug left unfilled.
A vacant grave for words left unspoken.

Peel my dystopian fruit,
the empty husk of my labor.
Abhor me again,
or still.
Fill my nostrils with hate,
a mate for my disgust.
Bleed in colors only dreamt,
secrets kept as seed for youth.
Drowning abjections,
pearls of wisdom kept in tight-lipped shells.
Smells of conspiracy and shame.
Is this what I was suppose to learn,
oh, wayward parents?
Is this what I was suppose to find,
destiny unkind?
And find it I did not,
I woke to it's rot.
Laying upon my shoddy pillow,
face the same as mine,
death in the eyes.
Yet, therein, still, is kindled
embers of lost fires.
Pitfall rituals discarded,
hard-hearted and fitful.
All for the glory of no glory.

To where do I traverse my verse of sentiment.
Sediment set in said increment
played upon the ears of a child,
wild upon the planes of plain immortals,
powerless gods, and ill-statured titans.
Widen my view to see nothing,
or, perhaps, nothing noteworthy.   
Divorce my discourse with abandon
meant for one that cares.
Stare into the bare soul of half-eaten fruit.
A point as moot as I am mute.