In the darkened, shadowed night,
Dreams drift out to scheme.
Blood stained heroes;
All woven together:
In an interlocking pattern of pain.
A hand thrust from the sand,
A mouth clamped tightly shut,
Do what you must,
While mind-high in dust.
Reality scampered from the stage,
Intimidated by the swirling echoes
Of this other world,
A forbidden world,
Where blasphemy’s unfurled.
Crawling through the wreckage
That was painted by a broken brush,
Brush strokes bleeding poisoned paint.
Masking the twisted landscape
So nothing’s as it seems:
The doves don’t cry, they scream.
Contaminated by this world,
Where the ground, it seems to speak,
Coming for you…for you…for you….
Mountains crumbling down
Wake up…up…you’ll never wake up….
Storm clouds rolling by,
Spiraling red fog in the sky,
Always, always, wondering why,
But never believing the answer.
The artist’s painting is never done
Implode, explode, cross-hatch the sun,
Until it’s rendered a useless knot,
Warming is not, this dreamscape.
A torturous after-day
Leading to a disturbing after-life.
Soak the poison into the soul,
And escape not.
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