Fatigue creeping over me
camoflagued, it softly tramples;
a lethargic oxymoron.
I don't know where it comes from,
in cynical cliché I'll tell you
that it come from mysterious lands,
faraway and free.
But in all honesty it comes from...
Hah, another bloody cliché.
And so as the exhustion grows worse,
so does my language.
You know I'm not normally like this,
listless, lethargic, liberated?
Alliteration, it's back to basics.
What rhymes with rhyme,
Pacing, like a caged phoenix,
wings scraping the sides of my prison,
strips of flesh and feather,
flaying from my bones.
Samander, my phoenix, my brother.
Where are you??
Dumn question, I know where you are.
Not here. That's for sure.