Caustic
obscure my cure if nothings
left in sickly sweat I lie
to myself in pride I stand
and stride out of vacant
mind sterile time
wasted atrophy
my crime and guilty
I am running from the sun
shined shell of my self
medicated cadence
slows internal
rhyme and speed
my aging frame from twenty
strong to sixty frail
glass holds a caustic cure
conducted though toxic tunnels
crumble after acrid arson
grass grows
unfettered mowed
down in prime
numbered graphic health
my body holds wealth
liquid assets traded stock
family jewels stolen
thieves mock in quiet talk
who knew platinum
plating rusted you
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment