Unstitched. Threadless. Matches lit. Burnt.
Once you think you're hit pay dirt; you're spent.
Brooding on the blue blood pooled in your palm; the vampires's creepin' in to your calm. You say, "There's danger in an open hand", while you squeeze your arm in a toppled stance.
Grayed. Decayed. Set out to omit.
Undercover of pain
in a world of shit.
Pumps lcoked, fixed to drain. Like crashed cars you hit hard on the black tar.
Tissue scarred with the grit in your penciled frame, drawn maps apt to a freight train; unmanned.
Pruned florid strand, stuck in something darker than mud; the soldier with his own sword deep in his guts.
CUT free from these erected gallows
There's something somewhere...
Better tracks to follow.
Memorial Day 2017
A drop of blood.
A shove from the edge to the deepest end
To a creature crunching it's cud;
Sent nutrient to digestive crud.
Took a dive in the mud
alive in the nook;
A welcomed change from the currents that they strayed
And dangerous fodder for open water.
It seems you're only popular when you've set; at least according to everyone i've ever met.
I greet you every morning with a glow on my face, you bring me roses and when you hit the wet asphalt, you're a love I can taste.
I pray to you because you're the only god in my sight. I pray to you because you're the only light in my life.
I open the shades so your rays warm all who are within; slide across the windows and let the day begin