T.K.R.E.
This mouth wide open,
trying to speak;
over our brute,
beating the weak.
Some convoluted feel,
from desire pure;
wrapped in solace,
Soft;
Demure.
Leaving me to my own,
and nothing more.
My friend;
My Brother.
No lies,
no cover;
No discomfort pushing you under.
The relief is yours earned,
through poisoned spirit;
Burned.
And yet I’m here,
missing you;
and wanting you home.
Just to show you;
—I’m better off alone.
(2013)
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