The Lost Cohorts
With effortless, profound lore,
as cliched as lyrical facebook posts,
that vibrates the shimmering silence
If the populous only knew the costs
Guiding lights,
Little love bites
I carry shackles in the front right,
where would you keep yours?
Say for the most part, caverns of cloth,
but we sprint when it pours
Enfolding static,
Bewildered addict
Withering is for the weary,
this twilight can spill into dawn
Toasting the hard stuff to a waning moon,
the enticing hell-fire can’t be wrong
Smooth cringing,
Relentless binging
We’re trapping lost nostalgia
Alluding to a means to an end
Cataloging the age of analog
Our narrative fails to play pretend
Dress as fossils
Becoming apostles
(2015)
