The mad man
Mixed
With gin becomes
A praying man.
A dark man tied
Down to the awful
Stench of boredom,
Tired of playing
With others he has
No choice: he becomes
Death.
Transfixed and alone;
Come play with him.
Oh god and devils
Sidekick; stop it.
I asked what words
could not truly
Express. Is he dead?
Alive?
Or is he in the purgatory
Of his mistakes?
Listen to his voice
And ignore it.

He cried when the
Moon ran away.

The time of the world;
The time to formulate
Emotions is dead.

It's always been dead.
He's always been dead.
July was a mistake for him.