The Heart is Desperately Wicked (7/20/09)

bloodshot eyes as he takes another sip of the poison, sip of the poison. he knows it’s his bane; he knows it’s his shame. so why does he drink? why do you think? the explosion in his brain has for a moment gone numb, for a moment gone numb. Thus to dust by rust and lust; condemning his trust; destroy him this must.

Oh, friends, I’m sick – sick – sick and tired of these charades – reality fades – down, fallen – rust-rot and rotten – corrupt by my luck – like vampires they suck – all of the life from the eyes – the light from the veins. my hate dries the rains – embraces demise – of all the good, as it dies – unfortunate that it never existed – extorted and twisted, polluted-like thoughts – as life rots, and it rots. “Farewell the tranquil mind; farewell content” – it’s not what I meant. My facade is o’r-spent – you see, I’ve bent and I’ve bent – all the words that you meant – for good, into wood -that’s decayed and dismayed – by vanity’s spade as it should, like the wood, earth and un-earth – all the lies laced with flies – maggots that cry – from the
wound as it peels – cracks, burns, and scabs over with red, black, and white. – enveloped in night – no starlight this time – no amber beams of soft moonlight to caress this lonely, broken heart.

This raving may seem rampant, verbose – unseemly and gross – but this is my heart – the depraved, sinful part – forgive what I’ve writ – laced with dark, subliminal wit – it’s not meant – to condemn or promote – this bile that i’ve wrote – but perhaps in it’s despair – the reader can have a care – as I now illustrate a life – that has consciously cut himself off of the vine – take heed as you read – this writer, he
bleeds – and who drew this the blade across the author’s nape? – none but himself – so gawk as I gape – my wound is fresh – fresh and red – with the blood that I’ve bled – and before I am dead – take the words that I’ve said – take them to heart – Your life is not yours – to have and to hold – This warning’s not new -it’s tattered and old – and while men’s hearts grow cold – Satan’s grows bold – so abandon your rights, your will, and your pride – cast yourself down – and stretch your arms wide – for your life is truly on the line – with each breath that you take – you have that much less time – so if you are fake – don’t think that you’re fine – so maybe you’ve fooled all of us who now watch – but beware – have a care – you’ll soon have a double share of despair – and soon write a rhyme that is darker than mine.

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