By Joseph Childress

This isn't coincidence
These predicaments
Don't occur
From compromise
I promise
This instance
Was made from insistence
Fate
Need not play a role
Why chase you
When I can stalk truth
And take soul a step further
I sing blues
Off cue
And play keyboards
Off key
To mimmick the mockery
Of clowns that show grief
Or clones that make art to show originality
The irony
Can leave wrinkles
In the corner of a smile
But for me
This comedy
Isn't worth my while
If this tragedy
is but a wrinkle
On the loose leaves of the wild
I don't aim
To tame these emotions
I only aim
For your heart
With arrow's pen-pointed
I always draw my words
The most artistic of weapons
If you listen
This suicide will be assisted
Either save face
Or erase your pencil thin smile
Although,
We'll fall from grace
At least
We're falling with style.