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Jacksen Nov 2018
I wake up with sweat dripping from my body
I look out my bedroom window
Outside a woman dressed in black is smiling
I walk through a door
Entering the realm of nothing
Lost I am
But I do not speak
A wolf guides me back to my nest
I do not want to leave my protector
Entering back through the door
I transform back into dirt
They bury me like they buried her
Deep into the ground
The wolf howls outside
Calling me back
But, snakes are holding me within the ground.
Don’t leave the Garden they whisper and slither all around
One bites me
Injecting me with the gift
The wolf vigorously digs through the ground
Oh protector how you already walked right over me
I awake one last time
I awake to a man with no name or face
Just hands
He touches me all around
Jealousy reaps from his hands
He cuts my wrists and drinks of my blood
Hoping for the venom to seep inside him
Jacksen Nov 2018
A track’s foundation is cracked
With weeds like seen in the Amazon growing in between
Green the color of life
The foundation is cracked and the runners cannot run
They are halted from jumping
From sprinting
From flying
The foundation is cracked and it keeps cracking
Keeps spreading like lice
The weeds grow tall and sturdy
Hiding the snakes within
Watch your step the tormented groundskeeper said
The green are the ones most poisonous
The ones hardest to see
Jacksen Nov 2018
Dust particles rolling through the wind
The orange stank seeping into the noses
The Southern Belles waving their fans,
for a glimpse of freedom from the summer's breathe
Orange sand pouring from the mouths of zealots
Captives having their last meal,
praying to a God they had forsaken long ago
The Southern Belles whispering in their Bible Study,
As they age in the stank they believed they were saved from long ago
Only the dead understand the balance,
The ones who have decomposed
We are nothing more than the stank
We spend a lifetime to erode and turn into dusk within the wind
To turn into orange sand to be gulped up and spit out once again
But the Southern Belles still be praying
The zealots still be preaching
And captives still fear the outlaw country

— The End —