in the dismal modest space
these bewildered men call home,
their mothers home.
Dredfully came across
in the midst of a search,
a guilty exploration.
Misplaced mind.
Then I walk miles, with no direction.
Should have been a sign;
restlessly give-in meanwhile.
A place to sit
supposedly for just a bit.
And hell takes its hit.
While the freezing time is the only thing that does not get lit.
Their mother's home,
these bewildered, half-rags call home.
Graphic tv screens,
Feeling taken over by their unforeseen vaccines.
Breathing stale
this room is a mix.
Everyone profoundly hating everyone just because of their attendence too; and
all at once holding our dead end fixture.
My mind clutches;
and now I suffer the pictures.
Accents stiffen my position.
Each mumble incisive,
sharper and sharper
when my teeth buckle down
I dream of demolition.
Laced to a chain inside,
filthy hearts allied.
"Can I go outside?"
"Can I get the hell outside?"
No clock to stare deep in the eye.
Mouth to mouth with hell's sender.
Damned filthy pretenders
stole and locked us high and dry.
Quiet, But Continuous
Cannot surrender
movement, to them, is suspicious.
Inhumanity.
Insanity.
Any expeditious scheme
burnsand punishes me, tells me I don't deserve to
escape the Profanity.
Obscene.
Mouth to mouth and
that's the last of my plea.
Rush
Spill
Smell.
I vomit and I don't care.
Still
forced
to your closet space hole
if I sit back down it could be Death's Chair.
Note to soul:
nurture verses nature
