Hell, sings mine name – one shouldn't hear blaring dramatics,
halls press back as lights speeding erratic,
home resembles minor war zone draped in plastic,
horrid tension awakened by breathable traumatics',
sinning tone lullabies cheering through radio static,
images sweeping across floor – ceiling – mind with inessential bloodshed graphics,
silly archaic beasts revel havoc –
rifting boards,
.... wrapping throat by everyday essential cords;
stammering for any other hand to assist in cunning battle,
constant razor edge haggles,
never ceases to be seen – the worse of these habitual romantics?
One of many side-effects that boast from an unrelenting manic.
YOU ARE READING
Between an Aphrodisiac & a Loathing Place.
PoetryA collection of poetry that has been written from me (and my constant battle with wrecking insanity). Some will make sense; some will leave you with a big ole' question mark; but, like myself, not everything can be precise and make definite sense...
