my lord and lord of my bulges
I cut my knee cap for your saintism
armored with incessant taste
to unveil that peeling flesh
but do I need still need your permission?
To say, sleep and weep no more
is like adding a soberer’s blood to a weeper
nothing changes, except the anguished tears that never ceases….
They left me at the close end
sounds of treachery I keep playing
as my world fumes with my only understanding
but to the realms of reality
I am only a carnival’s concordant appease
Take me to hell
o’ sounds of ailments
take me to the abyss
o’ failing moment of my nomenclature
for the rise of this tide
merges me with the loyalty of roses
And yet all is madness
nothing beautiful, many ugly moments
yet only my obituary cameras
take my snapshots to the oceans of wails….
The Village Thinker © 2014