of sour grapes and wrath
the lies you live
the ones you hide
running from yourself
the circus never left town
watch your finger
pointing at you
tongues ensnared
no sanctuary for little people
mouth cracked like the tower
never at the top
looking down
i've always looked through
beauty with no reflection cast
just the withered husk
holding to worms
for empathy
a shut door
then a blur
i walk the storm
cleansed
"Man creates his own God, his own devil, his own heaven and his own hell. This is your hell." - The Masque of the Red Death
Friday, August 15, 2008
1 comment:
Thanks brother. Very familiar to my own works. I love the title and the substance of this piece as well as the thread--I like the darkness and fuck you to the bitches. To the Russ man--cheers
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