The roots that sleep beneath me
These roots that sleep beneath me
Have been pulled up; excommunicated
Given witness to former occupation
Layed abed with warm milk
Lined with honey-blest whiskey
Coddled in that stone-bred blanket
Wrapped as tight as mummy’s expiration
It dissipated like the stream of smoke
From the candle wick
It dwindles among loose soot and fire beds
Ready to awaken; not so soon
A thorn has pierced my true self’s side
Bullets whisper in the air
Ruins and desperation abound
The white flag has sung
A weary bird whirling death
Spins upon his sword
Flagging hands speak with fingers
A miserere is a trumpet
I have a rose with open hands
But words have ghosts
And you are too bright for that
Escape the raven
He dwells in my veins
Flapping doors and caves
Transporting all thoughts
To easy access
He is plucking himself
Wicked feather by horrid claw
Grappling this heaven
That cages his dark shadow
And these chains are getting lighter
I spoke my freedom
Amid the calming waves of the sea
Your face was the ocean
Your smile the sunrise
You laugh the crashing waves
Letting me swim in your essence
And yet I’ve never
But I long so often
To be rid of this madness
Allowing myself to priest my days
I shove all of it aside
Strangle by thoughts this raven-friend
Who chokes my brain child
He knows nothing of the light
But curses his shallow existence
And we’re the same
My star, what is this see in me
Bubbling at the surface
A break where no light breaks
Or a relief
Distance is a monument
And yet I thought I was a kid
Breezes that brush aside
But I am a mask-fiend
And I hoped...
To lay abed all
But I must drudge with them
Ghostly voices call me once again
And leap towards them
Into the graves
Because, sweetie, life is a two-faced whore
But in my fields I feel alive
Out there I am terrified
Scared, vulnerable, and lay down
With a gruesome knife
Set to devour me
So I retreat to my thoughts
And pray for my stars to relieve me
