Barbed wire drips from the cracked sky 
Forming dream catchers entrapping doves 
I sleep in a field of yellow grass and feathers 
A human compost pile on orbiting garbage 
(God's little mistake lives longer than Heaven) 
My mouth is a minefield of scars and stitches 
It bleeds hate with every breath of death and decay
Occasionally pleading with an exiled king
To die and go straight to purgatory
In the Fires of our Civilization
9 hours ago

No comments:
Post a Comment