Tame a little vestige of flame,
Afraid, you hide your shame.

The truer it is, the more wrong you are.
Out of place, out of shape,
melodies catering to distaste.

Brittle glass, like wasted hope,
Orchestrating a washed up trope.

Cover it up, ***** it out.
Tiny spark of true self,
Left to linger, by yourself.

Do me a favor, strike your lighter,
Give me your soul, your fire.

Inhale the dancing fog,
Chase your tail, you dog.
Do another lap, don't be a slob.

Blur your brain into eternity,
Shackle your mind without disparity.

Draw the gray curtain over your eyes,
Emerald, amber, chestnut?
Does it matter if I forget or not?

Hold it down until it burns,
One more time before my heart unfurls.

Exhale your feelings like fireflies,
Watch them how they settle down.
Deep inside I can do no wrong.

Lipstick stains my shirt,
red like a speck of blood
smells of amber and wood.

Figurative like a dagger’s point.
A swift, preemptive approach,
a  faithful sinner’s broach.

Punctured mind, drained,
red wine numbs me to faint
relentless, battering pain.

You are dropped off at a shady part of town,
neon lights surround you, they are cascading,
you don’t know where to go, you are their clown.
a briefcase in your ****** hand, fascinating
how easy it is to slip and fall, graceful landing its not.

Masterful plans in motion, gearing up for promotion,
Handouts for the lost souls wandering the streets of devotion.
Wage slaves, suit and tie, tight rubber band and an injection.

Your little baggage is ticking, tick-tock.
Run for your life through dirt ridden alleyways,
Closing doors of sanity behind a tight lock,
See the faceless amalgamation of people, life finds a way.
Finds a way, to take your last breath away.

Your lust for carnal pleasures is a weakness,
This blade that cuts the thread of passion is your mistress.
Your body will reject your non-organic heart, don’t stress.

A message to the past and the future
not for the faint of heart, crass.
A lonely whisky bottle made for rapture
now floating towards capture

enraptured for the cycle of life.
Cyclical and lyrical mysticism,
lyricists binding ciphers, skinning with a knife
ride through a maze with the pied piper, don’t fight.

We idolize with holy reverence what a reference,
follow around with perseverance and benevolence.
I got a secret for you that might kick up some dirt,
But, hush, don’t get too constipated ’*** this might hurt,
Listen, here is the deal:

Head towards your following,
amass your biblical seal,
but you’ll get knocked down with zeal,
and you’ll feel the loving embrace of fear!

Cyclical and lyrical mysticism,
lyricists binding ciphers, skinning with a knife
ride through a maze with the pied piper, don’t fight.

A neon light, ad-libbed prison
laced with a hint of acrillyc poison
hiding within the booming echo.
the echo of a million memos.
Memories of still beating hearts,
realizing you've played your cards.

Shades of infinite colors
stopping all your motor
functions, like a good night's kiss
made with a lethal dose of bliss.
Clicking Glock in an alleyway,
Ticking clock in a hazy sway.