In the cold abyss that I call my home
I still hear the sounds of the dim moan
Through the walls and the yard and out my phone
I lay on the floor, inert like stone
And the trees never sway even though they're grown
We all agree that the light here shan't be shown
In the cold abyss that I call our home
I pray to God that he'll let me cast a stone
Because violence is the only thing I want to know
My reward is those I've cast down below
And the dim that believe their goodness glows
Don't acknowledge that their atrocious soul back-flows
Don't speak because your words don't count
My hand is down your throat, muffling your shout
I don't have a doubt
You will never break out
A cage near God's great house
Traps you like as a cat does to a mouse
Only I can make amends to fix a broken heart
It's best to steer clear, for I will rip you apart
I could maybe run away and have a clean start
When it comes to finding money, I'm not smart
But behind me is the most expensive art
The most expensive art that is mine to glance at and stare
To tear, admire, and wear
Kill your time with me, and your brain will go queer
As in rot with hate in an unusual way
YOU ARE READING
Assorted Poetry
PoetryPoetry from the Crack-Rock Cowboy! Reading discretion is advised. The following content is depressing and disturbing. Any correlation to any real event is purely coincidental. Serious poems talking about serious shit! Enough said.
