"accomplice" poems
I stand apart from the rest, I stand at the last line of defense, I stand in the way of what every player wants most, I am a dream wrecker, A monument killer, every puck is a threat, every puck carrier accomplice. I defend my net on the principle that it is my home and that nothing comes in uninvited, every save I make fuels the next, every crease I protect is my own, I am satisfied only after I stop everything.
I am a goalie
Feb 2, 2015
Feb 2, 2015 at 5:26 PM UTC
I've been having disturbing dreams
That make me question reality.
They take me to a place
Beyond comprehension.
I am a criminal, with my
Monkey accomplice, Chester,
Running from an unknown
Enemy, who wants me so badly.
Now I am in a dark place,
And don't know where I am.
All I know is that I'm being
Chased by something, in the dark.
I am now on a dangerous journey
In which my comrades have left me.
Yet I cannot continue as I had
Previously thought I would and could.
These are disturbing dreams
That have made me question reality.
They have taken me to a place
Beyond comprehension.
Apr 1, 2018
Apr 1, 2018 at 11:06 PM UTC
Colored streaks on the pavement
Grinding stone against stone
We return our source of enjoyment to the Earth
Sidewalk chalk tastes like childhood.
Body tracings, blue skies, big fish-- our cement canvas is filled
Filled with youthful thoughts and unlikely realities
A world of our own creation;
One we can stomp on
Cross out
Wash away
The presence of an unknown friend
Everyone is a friend, we are young and naive
“Draw with us, Draw with us”
Our wonder reaped the same;
The new face shows only bewilderment
“Draw with us”
Chubby childish hands exchange colored chalk
Despite our encouragement, this outlander won’t join in
It’s now a game for us
“Draw with us, Draw with us”
Foreign motions, fast moving fingers, a frustrated face
“Draw with us”
His hesitant movements are masked
By an apologetic smile
He brings new things to our Crayola-created universe
A trumpet, its player, a lion in mid-roar,
All things ordinary
Nothing we’ve drawn before
Like the colors we immerse ourselves in
Our company doesn’t last
Our accomplice offers a wave
Leaving his silent marks in our little world.
Nov 12, 2012
Nov 12, 2012 at 8:44 PM UTC
A desolate shore,
The sinister seduction of the Moon,
The menace of the irreclaimable Sea.
Flaunting, ****** and grim,
From cloud to cloud along her beat,
Leering her battered and inveterate leer,
She signals where he prowls in the dark alone,
Her horrible old man,
Mumbling old oaths and warming
His villainous old bones with villainous talk--
The secrets of their grisly housekeeping
Since they went out upon the pad
In the first twilight of self-conscious Time:
Growling, hideous and hoarse,
Tales of unnumbered Ships,
Goodly and strong, Companions of the Advance,
In some vile alley of the night
Waylaid and bludgeoned--
Dead.
Deep cellared in primeval ooze,
Ruined, dishonoured, spoiled,
They lie where the lean water-worm
Crawls free of their secrets, and their broken sides
Bulge with the slime of life. Thus they abide,
Thus fouled and desecrate,
The summons of the Trumpet, and the while
These Twain, their murderers,
Unravined, imperturbable, unsubdued,
Hang at the heels of their children--She aloft
As in the shining streets,
He as in ambush at some accomplice door.
The stalwart Ships,
The beautiful and bold adventurers!
Stationed out yonder in the isle,
The tall Policeman,
Flashing his bull's-eye, as he peers
About him in the ancient vacancy,
Tells them this way is safety--this way home.
4.2k
When you're falling,
the wind is like an accomplice
that will tell onlookers that you're only crying
because it's battering your eyes.
Jan 5, 2015
Jan 5, 2015 at 1:40 AM UTC
The stupidity of these people is unknown
I treat them so well. Yet I am mistreated
Why? What have I ever done??
Someone needs to tell me, please
I listen to every rant
I listen to you more than often
I am your "accomplice in crime"
Why am I not liked??
Am I doing something wrong again??
You can correct me.
I don't mind being corrected
You know how I treat you and your opinions
I won't judge you, I never did.
You were my outlet to reality
But now, I am being treated like the rest.
I have lost everything
Dont make me suffer
I suffer a lot
*Nothing more
Please.*
I beg of you.
Jun 30, 2013
Jun 30, 2013 at 1:51 AM UTC
OUR POVERTY HAS COLOUR
Alexander K Opicho
(Eldoret, Kenya; [email protected])
Most illusive and elusive
Like the devils of Congo forest
Is the impish poverty
Permeating all seals with vicious wily
Into the midst of callous humanity
Biting country men and country women
With carnivorous dentalities so ruthless
Putting man to a forlorn shame
As the wife looks in desperate flaggerbastation
Putting matriarchal womenfolk to humiliation
As the expectant sire wallow in the askance of looks
Condemning communities to status ad absurdum initio
Thinning man from man, culling woman from woman
Eating flesh by flesh social koprpers of man
Eating the native flesh in the farms of Brazil
Tearing the ***** steak into ghetto lacerations of Chicago
Whizzling sombre morning tunes to the Zulus in the black tundra
Cementing pale casted clusters for the Patels of India
Commanding suave drills to poor (wo) menfolk; left! Left! Left! –abouuuuturn!
With its accomplice Mr. Hunger son of starvation, they both command drills
For black factory workers, Maids and gravediggers to dance
Watchmen, thieves and prostitutes to match
In the hinterland of Africa all the riff-raff in deep despair
Dance in a tandem to the irritating drills of the duo;
You come on! Left! Right! Left! Right!—fowaaard match!
Backward match! Left! Right! Left! Right! Sharpp uuuuuuuturn!
The duo communiqué; Go home and wait for your pay announcement.
Surely; what colour is our poverty?
Nov 29, 2013
Nov 29, 2013 at 11:13 AM UTC
the heart is the most deceitful thing there is.
the brain knows that.
we just find it hard to understand.
what we generally perceive as love is nothing
but a mere illussion of what we're missing,
what we want.
the rush of emotions we suddenly experience
is so overwhelming that we can't grasp
its true intention.
we are building false hope in ourselves,
and we feed the thought
and excitement.
when we deeply think about it,
we are just inlove with the thought
of being in love.
it's more of a feel-good trigger
we unleash if we lost that
adrenaline.
it's that fairytale ending we have in our
imaginations that waters the seed
of romance in our hearts.
sad thing is we don't live in a fairytale.
i might insist pessism in your thought,
hey i don't write your love story.
blame it all in the confusion and lies
about love and your fairytale dreams,
your ever-after might not be within reach.
love is an illussion.
a trickery even rocket scientist can't explain.
mind boggling fantasies about prince and princesses.
but there is hope. ( an accomplice)
hope that even if you don't live in a castle nor rule a kingdom
believe that someone will treat you as the princess
far better you imagined yourself.
and when that day comes you might want not stay in neverneverland.
you don't grow old there.
what's the point of i-wanna-grow-old-with-you line?
love is a dangerous and a beautiful thing to enjoy.
its like sinking in a quicksand of bliss.
or swimming in a sea of chocolatey sea of tears.
but remember that in the midst
of everything you
beLIEve
in is a
LIE.
be careful.
Aug 5, 2013
Aug 5, 2013 at 6:49 AM UTC
Vast, empty, midnight hour,
hunchbacked lampposts glaring over parasitic black earth
choking its host.
A parking lot,
an ecosystem’s blemish—
hot tar seeping into the pores of the earth
like a stubborn blackhead in a lip line.
When no cars burrow into the blackened hide
like lice
the great absence of life
is an atrocity.
I imagine myself skateboarding across the tier
as the small town cops
watch languidly with vague interest—
A skateboarder’s paradise
where wheels and accomplice minds roll across celestial barriers
blasting infinite pulses
into the microcosm.
What greasy punks have their mother’s van parked here,
huddling by the heat vents
and jerking off into a Pringle’s can?
Empty parking lot
looks like a cemetery
filled to the brim
where headstones meld
over a mass grave—
delineated by white lines,
the apparitions of vehicles and their hosts
haunt the frozen space.
Another horrible excuse
to waste land,
a wasteland in and of itself
where Tom Eliot saunters aimlessly
and buries the dead.
The saddest sight to behold,
this vacuous parking lot
littered with stray shopping carts,
phantasmal plastic bags,
gum splotches,
***** stains,
candy wrappers,
cigarette butts,
used condoms,
lonely cops
and patient drug dealers,
ambulant skaters,
tired punks,
bored teenagers,
somnambulists,
stumbling drunks,
hunchbacked ***** lights
prying for life beneath its sallow gaze—
The air encapsulated within the perdition
stifling,
the pavement below stifling,
a constriction only visible
when emptied of its contents.
A cop wakes from their choking nightmare gasping
to find themselves trapped,
****** in this parking lot
where the walkie-talkie buzzes
with the weeping and gnashing of teeth.
The warehouse store
looming above the waiting room
lifeless, silent, dark countenance—
Big Brother sees all in the gaping maw.
Cascading before me,
stretching towards the highway passing by,
waiting for the panorama to finish scrolling,
the treadmill to cease its cycle—
all the while lamenting life’s absence
and reveling in the potentiality it possesses.
Dec 28, 2016
Dec 28, 2016 at 10:18 PM UTC
I've laid my claim on No Man's Land,
And yes,
There's really nothing here.
Just dust, and the occasional vagabond wind.
Yet,
I've made the dust my friend,
And wind my accomplice,
And the arbitrary my entirety.
I've bent her sultry whispers into rueful screams,
And play them on repeat while I sit here.
Like music, sweet music.
Then I play them backwards,
Giggling as she speaks in desperate tongues.
A merely wicked amusement you are, Love--
Contrived and bitter love.
If you be the devil, then surely I'm your demon.
Mar 7, 2012
Mar 7, 2012 at 7:49 AM UTC
His best friend was his subconscious
To request an audience with his accomplice
Loneliness he had to accept, alone he was,
I digress. Nevertheless, he kept his pain in silence
Feeling trapped in his own head, like a mental asylum
Instead of unconcealing the sorrow
He kept things unsaid, so his state of mind would remain unread
And would embed the notion that life has stopped dead
And would endlessly pray for a better tomorrow
If a tree falls in a forest and no one hears it, does it make a sound?
If not, is a lonesome man who is crying in pain not exist because no one is around?
The thought of waking up to another day of isolation
Drowning in his misery, he needs help to breathe
Rehabilitation would be as simple as love and attention
To help give this man a life where he can believe
Jul 10, 2018
Jul 10, 2018 at 10:52 AM UTC
A willing volunteer
It was out of my hands
Not my choice
No regrets.
Should have seen the signs
Went in blind
Naive to think I could trust you
My style never changed
You lured me in
For your own hidden agenda
Massaged my ego
I kept my options open
You found out
You took it personally
You took it the wrong way
I broke your trust
You sought revenge
I read the signs
You tried to trick me
You turned the tables
Hindered my growth
Made me a scapegoat
Damaged my reputation
Stitched me up
Left me out on a limb
You acted on impulse
You spoke too soon
You showed your cards
I held the aces
I made sacrifices to meet the target
I made mistakes
I left myself exposed
You thought you were clever
I knew your next move
You couldn't predict what was coming next.
You never chose me
I was rejected
Not valued
Not appreciated
Shame on you and your accomplice
Exposed for what you are
A pair of bullies
No turning back
I've had enough
I'm going
Going
Gone!
You grin
I saw through it
I'm no clown
I'm just a fool for exposing my weaknesses to a pair of manipulative *******
My character traits twisted to bolster your own selfish positions.
Surpression is the lowest form of greed threatened by my presence.
I'm no longer your target but now direct competitor.
Watch your backs
I'm on a mission to crush your egos to mush you pair of ******
I will Expose you for the clowns you've become.
Blowing smoke up each other's arses does nothing to build up the team.
A dog will always bite if provoked.
Dec 19, 2014
Dec 19, 2014 at 5:50 PM UTC
from the eye wall
thoughts of imminent rain
banked clouds assemble
black and ominous
with saturated breath
will not be denied
their time to rage
against the numbness
of each little death
barometers fall
coastal fortification
futile sandbagging
forlorn gestures
against the flood
a tropical depression
jet-streaming blue
wild moon tide
to desolate shore
precipitation
gray accomplice
faithful torrent
stratified walls erode
sodden wood, bone
unbalanced homes
collapse gracelessly
no match for gravity
or the merciless sea
Oct 27, 2016
Oct 27, 2016 at 12:43 PM UTC
Her kink was to watch
as I stroked one out in the car
in suburban parking lots.
One night, a guy in a ball cap
walked by. That poor man
was her unwitting accomplice
to ecstasy, but he just shook his head
as he strolled into the pharmacy.
I figured stroking was easier
at home on my own,
but that's the ****
we do to see
her smile.
-Ron Gavalik
Jul 19, 2018
Jul 19, 2018 at 12:51 AM UTC
"My skin is always crawling," said the body to the soul
"I've turned into an ant but there is nowhere left to go"
the world is being eaten by the people being served
but I won't come to dinner lest I'm cooked to be observed
there seems to be a fire burning everything in sight
consuming with a fury those who fair a different fight
I may have lost some footing but I'll never lose my legs
I will not play accomplice to what everybody says
so catch me if you can and do whatever you so choose
you may have burned my body but I crawled away from you
Oct 21, 2016
Oct 21, 2016 at 11:13 PM UTC
A poet is daydreaming – contemplating,
Stale is his entire mind surpassed;
An accomplice confers his realization,
Neither to suffice the fool – disillusioned.
That poet daydreams, dismayed in trance,
‘A truce!’ he barters, on a fitted fray.
Frailty of his core seems definite in stance,
‘Tis anecdote… apparent of dismay.
The poet daydreams of the one he loves;
Severs the sympathy by egoism and contempt.
Scalar quantity of a breaching throb,
Under the tutelage of an infidel attempt.
The writer’s words are never dull, always honed;
Unyielding cutting edges fit for the crockery.
Elusive as emotions – tender as the blade of words sliced,
Thus cuts through the flesh, mind and soul like mockery.
Thus the poet’s mind can never be measured,
Nor does the ability of a man can overcome;
For both come from the Divine – Oh, highly favored!
Poetry of prose, so unique and unstrung.
Mar 3, 2014
Mar 3, 2014 at 12:40 AM UTC
Dawn
Is beautiful .
Its new and raw.
It's beautifully honest.
There's something redeeming
about the early minutes our day
It imitates the early minutes of our existence
And erodes the nonsense and lies
Of day-to-day survival.
Dawn
Not only relieves the darkness
It exposes the darkness within us
The things we did to each other
Or with each other
Under the cover of darkness
At dawn they are brought to light
And in those first few minutes
We too are painfully honest
Beautifully honest with ourselves
Enough to let the dawn
Infiltrate our hearts .
Dawn
Is fleeting .
It's redeeming factor is not permanent.
Within a few minutes
we begin surviving
We commit fresh sins.
We start lying.
We learn to hide ourselves
and our sins.
In broad daylight.
In dawn's light.
We lie.
And dawn helps us.
Soon enough dawn
becomes
Irrelevant not beautiful.
It becomes unfair and weak.
Letting sinners slip through the cracks
Letting the guilty forget their crimes.
And so we blame dawn.
For not delivering on what it promised
In those early hours of the day.
We call it an accomplice of the evil
And we charge it with treason.
But dawn
Was innocent.
It's only crime was light.
It's beautiful and redeeming light.
That let us sinners feel light
And guilt-free when it shone
Through the heavy darkness in our hearts.
For the first time.
And maybe the only time in our lives
We knew beauty
And redemption.
If only for a few minutes.
Oct 2, 2017
Oct 2, 2017 at 6:16 PM UTC
Mathilda is brutally murdered
Udolph is the obvious suspect
remembers everyone how she jilted him
David her last lover is inconsolable
Evan’s appearance raises suspicion
right before the ****** he met her
Ergot the butler had seen him going out
Rocky was with him could be an accomplice
Inspector Brown finds it a tough case
so many suspects but all with good alibi
Dr. Thomas isn’t sure about the cause of death
autopsy is necessary for the confirmation
visible though are the abrasions on her neck
Inspector Brown interrogates all the suspects
dogs are brought to find smells of trails.
Nov 20, 2014
Nov 20, 2014 at 7:38 AM UTC
I can't lie...
I miss her.
Maybe not the romantic relationship,
But I miss her company...
I miss those nights eating dinner in front of the TV,
I miss her in the kitchen sipping on some wine,
I miss those lazy Sundays on the couch doing nothing.
I can't lie...
I miss her.
Maybe not those nights when we fought incessantly,
Maybe not the constant struggle for wanting to be wanted..
But I miss her...
I miss the sincerity of her heart
I miss the love in her eyes when she looked at me...
I miss the security...
Knowing she was going to be in my bed every night,
I miss the feeling in my heart
Knowing that there was no need to worry...
She was mine, and I was hers.
I can't lie...
I miss her.
Maybe not the tears she shed,
Maybe not the constant fighting
Maybe not those nights when I was constantly pushed away...
But...
I miss the simplicity,
I miss how comfortable we were,
I miss knowing every single part of her body,
I miss the plans, the smiles, the conversations...
I can't lie.
I miss her...
My best friend, my accomplice,
my constant companion...
I can't lie...
I still miss her...my wife.
Jan 18, 2016
Jan 18, 2016 at 2:04 AM UTC
It's five a.m. I am dawn over, yet again..
I am the water I drink, the food I eat, the air I breathe, the sleep I sleep, the music I hear, the people I see, the places I go, the content I read, the player in my games, the epitome of lame, the disorder I blame, the weeping I wax & wane;
Chaos in a flame
I am the cigarettes I smoke brand name, unruly & untamed, the pride that I coincide with not having shame in who I am, the crazy in my eyes, my daughter's surprise, my fear's accomplice, my mother's only child;
What's worse, I'm wild
My father's little girl, my hair when I twist, & decide to give it a curl, I am five feet, seven inches short, I am a case to dispute, I do mind trivial pursuit, I am the upchuck I hurled, when I found myself among this world, I am dawned before sunset, I am still susceptible to surprise, I have blue/green eyes, I still can't see why god loves ugly, I am critique in concrete, on this couch I have a seat, three cats;
All lying around above below or beside me
I am beside myself, I need mental health, I scream with my mouth, still no one hears me out, I am down & about it, I gave up long ago, I am wishy washy windy, I cry tears laden with doubt, I too often have something that I worry about, I have been spread too thin;
I am disheartened on a whim
I am a cracked *** I am a blossom out of stock, I am a non smoking **** I don't get blown away like the leaves, I have skin that needs to breathe, I left my body because it's a pet peeve, I shed hair in long strands;
I am overthinking needing a weeve
I am punch drunk, I need sleep like I never slept, my pillows head away, I swept them up, put them down for a rainy day, yes I am a classifiable clown, I make path my own way, If only the right hook is in town, I am able to smile at my frown;
B E C A U S E I L O V E T H E E D E E P D O W N
Nov 11, 2013
Nov 11, 2013 at 6:57 AM UTC
Up and over the barbed wire gate
Crept a dreadful Mr. Despair
To meet a horrible Mr. Hate
Who was impatiently waiting there
The dark alley that they had chosen
Was well off the beaten path
But it wasn’t long they heard approaching
A reckless Mr. Wrath
He greeted them with a grunt
A courtesy, for they’d never met
Then up from a steamy sewer
Rose a rueful Mr. Regret
He hardly nodded his heavy head
On his face a grumpy grimace
And so there they festered
Awaiting their last accomplice
Then out from a ***** dumpster
Creeping quite quietly
Fell the gang’s last felon
An awkward Mr. Anxiety
So there they plotted to pillage
In that abandoned alley
That lovely little town
Then called Vulnerable Valley
There they consorted, concocting
To bring the town nothing but gloom
They snickered, spat and sneered
Oh, the impending doom
Suddenly all peered upward
As a light shone through a window above
Their riotous rebellion had roused
A light-hearted Mr. Love
“Top of the mornin’ down there
Dandy weather wouldn’t ye say?”
To which there was no rebuttal
To sewers and shadows
The creeps had crept
To fraternize another day
Feb 22, 2013
Feb 22, 2013 at 8:04 AM UTC
Lovely night, soft, supple, sweetly dark,
stole my heart, with her salascious gait,
did arouse my desires, beyond all limits
embraced me tightly, put to bed, lulled to sleep,
dream, her accomplice, an enchantress beyond compare,
crept in, to ****** me in perfect silence,
as I writhed in waves and waves of pleasure.
Jan 7, 2013
Jan 7, 2013 at 7:30 AM UTC
******* ***** I'm dreaming,
of you and another man reaming,
well you are a succubus and a demon,
And I'll tell you right now, its my emotions that you are feeding,
on and on I go tears streaming,
waking up cold sweat beating,
the brows of my forehead and my teeth bleating,
Clashing, gnashing, outside is scary but within it is bleeding,
knife wounds to the gut, butterflies screaming,
I can't even sleep now, covered in my own *****
Hating you, blaming you, dreading the upcoming meeting,
Can't escape it, can't fight it, it is your body I'm needing,
Your soul that still makes me feel like givin',
Up and dyin' here in this bed of my own decievin',
Girl, I'll tell you its our fault I'm leavin,
Dead and unheeded,
Depressed and beaten,
down by the secrets of me you were keeping,
But now it is over and still on my sub-conscious you are eating,
So every time I wake up, half-dead and decreasing,
I still find you, And I find myself singin',
But you deserve no more songs no more revelin,
Not from me, no, you'll find happiness everlastin',
And I know this I can see it, I am dreaming,
And his **** is bigger and its aching,
The torture, the **** the forlorn breeding,
Modern society or mental instability,
I dont know babe, Im ******* crazy,
Lazy but forcefully preceding,
When I tell you I'm flawed and dominating,
You laugh at me, hardly even breathing,
and I cant help but still be believin'
My love, my idolization, it is sickening,
and as the subject, my former accomplice, partner in crime, your sins to are quickening,
You made one mistake and that was never falling,
Ever out of yourself and now your life you'll be living,
Yet that mistake was not yours, nor any others my darlin',
I was simply not the man, a scared abused child buyin',
More hopes and lies to fight the pain of hatin',
Yourself every day wakin',
Up thinkin', without her I'm wasting,
Too much fear, too much pressure, babe you cant even be feelin',
You just gotta sit there and get ******* no performance, no mind rushing,
a thousand miles and still good for nothing,
Failure again, forevermore, the one person you can live without now ignorin',
You, 'Sexually incompatible', and all the gravy,
Still I kept coming of the dream, of the real one, of you and me feeling,
A love greater than love, obsession and needing,
Just one more look, one more hug, one more day of existing,
But now, buttercup, its just me up alone at night, fighting
The memories of you, and, for what its worth,
I'm losing.
Aug 26, 2013
Aug 26, 2013 at 4:05 AM UTC
If you would be my man, baby I'd take you anywhere you wanna go - so let me know, if you take me down, I'll take you around- give me those eyes and I'll love you for days like birds live for skies. And, baby, the way you touch me is completely an accessory to mesmerize me - talk to me, lover, you, the one with the eyes, I'll be yours if you say so in my ear but it's clear you're just a dear, so close never near. Desperate for a heart to hold, fall for smiles and break apart the mold.. Storms that put you to sleep keep you awake, make you shake - it's all in that machine that makes you dream midnight's moonlight on that scene.. Glowing arms reach for your embrace, soft and creamy skin against your face race against your pace, stars fall into place... Dizzy in my dreams, so it seems daily streams of delinquent screams for serious fears and this is what you wanted, you wanted to think, you're here so you speak silence demanding patience since straying, stranding my hopes in hopeless hopefulness helpless for an accomplice.. Designs in my mind lying on the floor like a crime for fame, what a crying shame - dying for the same life-defining, death-defying love stunt mind ****
Dec 7, 2012
Dec 7, 2012 at 7:59 PM UTC
constant waves crash under the surface, the skin, absorbing cynical ballads sung by the echoes of these inhabitants. Relief derives from punishment, self-nourishment, set the stage for these unfortunate events. There has been no consent, no arrangement. my voice has been silenced by the choices I've secured. breathless and brittle i can hear the bones cracking and open doors slamming, this horizon dissolving into a thin gray line. Confined to this cage of regret and regression thrusts underneath my fingernails, leaving bread for bail, opting for a quiet place. My own eyes are lost in these melancholy faces surrounding the destruction like a venue of vultures. My head is so clear, and so transparent. Denying instincts and escape have left this chaos unsettled and evident; naked for prey. Sunken souls longing for destruction. Anticipating a rainy day. Molded my chemistry to fit inside what they want of me, circles in squares, what do we really have but empty packaging. And emptiness has no place of residence. Wildfires stemming from my fingertips as every single substance i caress turns to ash. Blackened. steps that have no depth. Roads that have no end. I am spiraling on an axis that does not tilt the right way and my hair is blowing in the wind. Goosebumps raising on my skin. I am alive. I am distant. I am left behind. In the wrong frame of mind. Unrestrained. A dose to withdrawal with a shot of champagne. Ten seconds, i'm falling into intersecting highways. Blankness. Resurrecting a flicker, caught beneath dark circles sheltering my iris. An accomplice in the wounded charade, a collapsing lung makes no sound in this crowded space. Abandoning idolized conclusions raising passions like battered children, from broken gates we let the truth escape and the oxygen conformed with it. Counterfeit. Dreams, although sleepless haunt every breath inhaled leaving malignant now speechless. Disease in every bite we eat. I leave it upon the ones who envision cloudless. My sight has mislead me, which has brought me to this wreckage. Dependence in noxious fumes gripping on to this disaster. Was it really the truth we were after. After the truth we wrote new rules, confused for apparent reasons. Our time is evolving and deteriorating with the seasons.
Oct 16, 2013
Oct 16, 2013 at 2:09 PM UTC