Death looks at his reflection in the mirror
Weeping tears of sulfuric ash

"You were never given a childhood old boy!"

I suppose

They are right

Humanize one's worst and only true fear

The release
After the storm

A place where sanity can only be reached
Through this work
And the work after that
And hopefully

The work after that and that

Plays are written for the penny loafers of penny pinchers
And a step is memorized
For its imbalance
And blasphemy

When I hear the church bells ringing
And the organs echoing like light missiles
I know the stuff
Is getting worse

How many heads are within this place?
How many mad men truly have a case?

The windows are chuckling for they have seen all
Even the pictures blush as they hang upon the wall

Meek
&
Maneuvering

For their own
******
Sake

Tables are cleaned for the next round
Of grub shovers

When her mouth voices love
I try to believe
That it is
Enough

Enough to satisfy
The greedy game
Of feigned liberty

We try
And we'll try
Again and again

And
So on