No accent better than broken-english
The country's a **** hole now though.

Hallelujah's dwindle the arcades like pendulous chasms

Chasing down the shadows only to end up with their tails

In their throats.


The silence was eerie. I was asleep half the day because

There was nothing to do when up

And far less to do when I was down

But I guess I'm just more use to the feeling of a sunken ship.

The bells and sirens are screaming now though;

The worst part is that no matter how much I improve myself

The biggest issues are circumstantial.

Devil watching the TV and grinning as if he'd snatched the souls
To mansons; I was too hung up on the risk to ever take chances

But I've grew sick of romantascing my struggles

Swear to God I've been dragging the same cold winter on my back

From like five years ago and I've just been letting it stack while I
Selectively snip the worst of it following one too many mistakes...

I've grown truly wise in a sense that I no longer rely on hope,

Been broken in the same way too many times to react the same as I had been.

We're all destined for the ground so I am going to stand mine while I still can.

The cold usurped the trees
I watch their children fall
filling up the wet street
winter forestalled with a cask
                                             of alcohol

watch as the tip of his tongue
touches the roof of his mouth
whips down and spouts out
the reasons why we have
                                         this drought

but its raining now
maybe something will grow
or a sea of spit
with rolling waves
                              will overflow

I told her I would try
to rekindle with him
stuck in cabin's twilight
sewing sinews of this
                         phantom limb

how does one talk
before they think
does he hear the words
that dribble into his
                               warm drink

then ascends as steam
back into that cavernous nose
to permeate his brain
and slowly seeps into
                             tattered clothes

this "vacation" will be over
but not soon enough
a couple more days
all I have to do is
                         avoid fisticuffs

no promises.

Dig deep in the sand with a cupped shovel-hand
Until you come across a healthy source of water.

Scoop up what you see and let loose the soggy contents,
Let them dribble through a careful filter fist.

Slowly drip foundations and upon them start your fortress
Using steady streams of trickled dribs and drabs.

Stalagmites in hyperspeed form walls and lookout towers
With the damp bricks one by one constructing peaks.

Spectators of all sizes will collect and cast their gazes
But you must keep up the focused droplet swell.

Maiden battles can't be won and so the masterpiece will crumble
To the tide that forces motes to overflow.

Waves crash and reek their havoc on the castle that you managed
To build with will and manky dripping palms.

The sand on which it once stood will be flattened out and polished
To make way for a palace twice as grand.