Crimson gashes of a dawning time,
Written in the agony of a lowly rhyme.
A bitter sensation, of the lost hope,
A kinship to the salty pearls that they mope.
Crack, goes the footing, of the dying steel,
No movement, no pain, a raging deal.
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Slipping into explosions, in a daze,
Withering dreams left to be untamed.
Twelve in an hour, twelve in a day,
Squirming through the guilty way.
The end of a reverie, of a ubiquitous man,
Shaken to the world, blithering into the sand.
The woes and avarice of the world,
The simple glances in the freezing cold.
The severed shards of a broken glass,
Driven into the screeching pass.
Undone in a moment unforgotten,
The sentiments of a heart rotten.
Blithering incoherence of a lost man,
Slithering into the hidden crevices;
Of the slightest touch, Of the lightest shiver,
In the musky shadow of a branched tree.
Flashbacks of a memory to see,
Unbent, unbroken, me.
