It’s
idle time to scare a brain a touch of dalliance.
We stipple daymares, to savor dynasties,
afraid to love.
I
feel it like parachutes, to grapple mind, two peers gone.
Many
perished, to gain approval, barely nineteen. I
watched,
seeking said approval, a young pallbearer. We
tore
hell, a flute of prayers, a deathless love. Such zeal—
for
a pier of sorrow, an upsurge of rage; for here today, a
touch
of fright, to stare into a box. It was hustle, and
drumbeats,
and five wounds.
Friends feuded, to carry guilt, and grog a
nightsong. I
love
him like home, afraid to speak, a mulatto’s sin.
Would
it change, to tremble fear, a day taken by rage. We
ate
like friends, to mingle drugs, tripping in three parts.
I
saw him, where it opened, a total stranger. It’s a wildlife,
to
see for ghosts, acting through limbs. Both are soldiers,
to
thresh the night, where money grew.
It’s still grey, to live it bold, a
nightmare brewing. Was
it
life, a faceless yearn, as crimson as oxygen? I ask, ever to
mourn,
a vile outcome.
Every deed a ghost, a face for souls, to
grieve through
purgatory.
We ran for streets, to yearn for more, to pitch in
on
a fifty pack. It’s pits for love, hugs for pain, and a brook
of
memories. Many sought life, the best of a nightmare, a
group
of kids; and many flourished, the wildest turn, nearly
burnt out. I wish to
hearts, a changing prayer, to live for love.
