May you cut, may you rend; may you vilify the end.
Under the bridge...
Moss and stone, plastic cups; cigarette butts- Slimy yellow light.
Magnificent shelter, cardboard stock. Do you always climb back into... Who you once were or was it was?
Done enough time to belong here- Sit or straddle-
The line has collapsed.
Drip- The rain pools up dirty here...
Oh alas, how strange it seems.
Cut and broken-
Infamy of losing a perceived game, and there was nothing but... What will become of you.
Done enough time to survive here... The line has been skewed, Do you think it might of collapsed?
Cut to the enlightenment, it's been too long you see... There was nothing left to view...
Cobbled stones and ornate street lamps. Dancing people in a continuous loop- Marionettes with no strings, unbound only to be stitched into place-
Look at them, they and us; we or our... It smells sweet there, like pie.
They read the sign- Dead End, No Outlet, Stop-
Prostituted, betrayed and abused.
Desolate, void and empty.
Nothingness with a lengthy description- Dragged and quartered through us and we. Definition of them-
It rattled and rang, bells and teeth chittered and clanged.
Aware, poverty begun to stalk and harass.
I think it was the red and white sugar and mint, that resonated that sweet taste of God.
Pulled out the heart, a suckled spear too sweet.
Carmine, crimson and bleak- While the ice comes to life. Glass smeared with oily hand prints.
Oh alas, look at us.
Just say it once again, may you cut, may you rend.
May you vilify the end-
The question of this query, does loathing come from the trash we imitate?
It was never because of you, just them being new...