Adolescent addicts, seasonal sunrises, pictured
perfect pains. Fathers afar, a scar on culture, trying to understand,
civilized; river talk, rival terrors, rereading thefts. Like double dice,
feuding with society, too angry to listen; and dying seemed hard, and living
seemed impossible, with a select few cashing in on food stamps. Born to bawl.
Southern arts. Each pining over similar sufferings. A soul made simplistic
mesmerism. It took hell heaving to rise higher. Needing ritual, neutral rites,
into royal nights. Nothing but everything—to change in a whiff, blinking into
destination, whisking, weaving. Things we say to ourselves, each space a pleat
in existence, far too harsh, needing heaven. Gaming self, insecure, trying at
luxury; dressing differently, it seems to mean much, with soul cleaving to a
wilder nature. Folks dispute morals, activate ethics, defending contradiction;
born at a baseline, fevered frowns, growing grains. To rear ravens, to create
crows, with existence withering by seconds.
