This path
reveals a lifeless desert,
an anachronism made of fermented concrete and bile.
The streets are paved with vomit and broken spines.
A death rattle spilling spent marrow through dried up veins.
A diatribe, an effigy, a prophet hanging
from a plastic tree.
Decades spent on concepts,
ideal coffins in unmarked graves
As we’ve heard a million times,
we are but slaves
I’d like my violently
wasted days back please.
And you said you’d welcome change
All progress turned into a lake of ash and sand. All progress, now dust...
Now awakened,
the wheel turns anew
Along the same circle,
a wasteland of rehashed trash
Lake of boiling ash
Flattened mockery of life.
Near faint,
traces of a past,
that might h
ave been
worth it once,
Acid rain, roads unturned,
a fly trap, only for us.
So sweet is the lure of defeat.
A toast to the last of days
and the fake embrace
of disgraceful tastes.
A sullen epitaph
Weighed down by the sands
of centuries gone by
An angel of flame
took the path less traveled
I saw her,
Unjustly obsolete through time’s ceaseless grind.
Forever trapped behind pale walls,
Before and behind dark dream glass.
Ceaseless watcher
hopeless in the face of progress,
silent in the face of time.
Crippled riposte
Of fallen days
Tearing through my chest
more than I could take
more than deserved
for all our follies.
And when I remember her,
I can feel that sometimes
In the same old holes
the same old ashes stir.
Everything burnt out of me.
Trickling sand my legacy.
