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.