And what melancholy sigh from a ragged throat exclaims
A weary yet fighting spirit, downtrodden yet still upright
His vengeful hand over the face, passionately closed lids
Chaotically jittering between rage and solemnity, he grits

A searing barrel channels a lone dancing wisp, carelessly
Stepping lightly on an esoteric staircase, climbing until
She absentmindedly tumbls from her pose, no longer real
Escaping his eyes, she rises spritely out of body and mind

Appease our darkest thoughts
Please our indignant actions
The gravity of his words tumble
From his lips, to never reach her ears

To impart upon her, selfishly, his essence of closure
Reminding himself, reminding the ghost, aghast, his soul
Purely reactionary, instinct is his resolve, and with this
Intent he justifies to himself, everything is amicable…

Though what keeps him sane is not known to him,
Treading a volatile edge, trembling and shivering
Beading ice crawls down his face, tired and weak
Returning to stance, his eyes distant and frail

So if you wake up please remember that you weren’t dreaming
Of many things that may transpire remember she wasn’t screaming
Perhaps about the chaos one would not notice such detail
You’ll be clutching dearly once you know what hides behind the veil

Expiate the sickly churn, the storming sky
Please our guileless shrugging of time
Living begotten years, spent overseeing
The threat of mortality, threatened with life…


Visceral Creations

Kent, United States

  • Artist
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