Writers are meant to show you something that isn’t there. That’s probably why it’s so easy for us to fall in love.
Day creasing when the time shatters on the eight,
I watch the shadows of the normal file one by one.
Solemnly staring at the ones by the ones,
Understanding 11:11 never will be as lucky as seven.
These nights will be the death of me,
Never ceasing to bereave my dreams to prosper
But handling seams to unlock the truth in my heart
That a fresh start is all I wanted.
What’s it got to be to discard your discrimination
That keeps me up in the night in order to put to death
The culmination of your plight?
You and your ranks line up, writing these tickets and fines up
My pocket can’t muster change for my portion or my future wife’s cup.
What divine luck.
Calling yourself a slave to glory but became a slave to stories.
Prophets portion came from your abortions to mankind,
Unwilling to love and adore for the sake of your own mind,
But would rather wreak the torment that calls your heart home.
It’s already 12:00 and it needs to move out.
Shouting at the pangs of distress for the fangs to get out of my veins.
I’m being sucked dry of my efforts, and my attributes to provide,
Only wishing at this point to confide behind my eyes,
And sleep. And I can’t even do that.
Do you understand the depths of depravity? If it is so easily afforded,
Then I should be rich and pay off your thoughts buy burying them in a ditch.
I worked for someone like you for too long,
And for the death of me, my scars are remnants of the throngs
That stood before me, adorned and willing to slay but unwilling to die.
I still stand battlemarked and laden with grief,
And I never wanted any of that, except…sleep.
These streets, bloodless yet violent, scream for help.
Her killers, swift yet silent, pestering whelps.
Her people, wicked, destructive, never at peace.
Her powers, corrupt, repugnant, “purging” her streets.
Her churches, distant and pagan, burn where they stand.
Her children, cold and orphaned, stay enclosed in her hand.
Not one gets away, not a single escapes.
Her fake smile hides her city behind rusted gates.