The dangerous chainsaw of destruction, the damp and musty cemetery of cruelty, the dreaded dead drug of desperation, the dusty dirty crossroads of determination, the hollow eyeball socket of fear, the mysterious lake mist of hatred, the mindless needle of sacrifice, the wild winter of sorrow, It’s a beautiful picture, if you are a monster!
After a grand design there was a white leap to find a boat in darkness. Time was dusting the frame of memory, and the age will grieve for the lost vision. The pace of assaults will increase over the burning
“At least eighty dead,” is all you’ve said…. As that charred colossus, Grenfell, towers overhead. The hopes and fears of those you loved, Dead. Those missing, without mention, who died, without dying, who cried, without crying. The faceless, euphemised headlines
BROKEN GLASS Standing here in front of me Are many pieces before me Looking down all I see Are different colored pieces Of what was me Broken, shattered and scattered Use to resemble me The glass I see before me
Down the drain, down the drain, follow the sand down the drain. His soul woven cloak awaits, scythe in hand, ferry leaving the docks. Crooked steps, cold and blackened breath, take me unto you. One leg in the grave, half