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Apr 2017
The aspiration was to overturn the  
hurt they collected upon my pain,
every time was like an original painting.

Blended with anticipation of seeing the  
last words grieving their deeds. But all
actions speak more than any words. I'm
depleting from their exhausted pleading,
everything is a moment of our dead reflections.

Cleaving the carcass of another addition,  
under the skies will they be food for
thoughts of others to feed upon. A new
slave to the elements, they will decay.

Don't they realize I'm doing a service?
ensuring the blade is fed, steel needs warmth
every time its buried its feels there life elope,
p*enetrating deeper than a soul weeping.
Poetic T
Written by
Poetic T  On Oblivions Doorstep
(On Oblivions Doorstep)   
317
     Poetic T and Pagan Paul
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