Pretty faces
Lie
Petty little
Lions
What to do
The motion-less
Few
What more is there to
Misconstrue
But the grievous
Muted tranquility
Will drown in six in
Dunes
Breathe In coarse
Granules
Of bitter truth
Feed your over
Hydrated
Self hate
Do not spew your
Dry laughs
In my direction
With the ledge so
Close
I want to trip you
To keep
Your morbid
Thoughts
To your grave
End