His motion dark. It’s sickening
how fields are barren from the salt.
The years they come to ****** away my mind.
The brewing hate is welcoming
So raise your finger to them all
and fall back into comatose this last time.

If there’s a need, I’ll gravitate
into the gaps of history
and break the burden of this yoke for you.
With tainted cups we celebrate
the sowing of a fractured seed.
Its funeral for everyone we knew.

The morsels fall from trickled thoughts
they taste like you when you were mine
our effervescent youth now lay in ruins.
The share of us displaces taunts
my serendipity has died
you’re all that’s left…you’re all that’s left…and you’re always all that’s right.