Life Is But A Dream

Broken trachea and the oxygen spirals out of control and far too soon
Sail the seas on empty ships, searching for treasure long lost in centuries of old, eclipsed
No gold can replace friends that turn to demons and decay before our wearied eyes
Yes, I am a prick – no disguising my demise, and I'd turn in less than a second to jab out those dark, accusing eyes, not even flinch to end the existence of flowers wilting in the garden
A dead bed of roses at your feet
Walk over the edge…
For game, I suppose
So close and yet so far
Away with simple atrocities that benefit only those who turn their backs on life's seasoned indulgences
Wilted time clock arrangements in unproclaimed disarray…
Ding dong, the bitch is dead along with the rest of those, oh, so familiar faces, traces of my distaste
For reason still linger
Don't point that arthritic finger at me, you unwholesome clod
I don't run in those clouded areas of green dread
Fierce jaundice and flaking skin, the flesh unwoven and brought to an all time low
This separation wasn't wanted, wasted, but necessity forced its hand…
Strangled, newborn tissue on fire
Burn filament outwits the dullard, two-bit, penny annie, gutter snipe
Ripe fruit hangs rotten in this garden of darkly, delighted spite
Trauma center, epi-center – do you feel the earth quake?
Time shivers and left over passion falters for a moment in the passive wind blowing over my sensitive skin – x out insects
Fate god dammit, I hate you
Everything you stand for, I abhor
Confusion sets in as the night returns in
Dark shadow of repute…
Yes, I am to blame for all that's gone wrong in third world abortions
Fuck you all, I'll hide it my way