The echoes of hatred kill long after they’ve been killed…
Where did this come from?
(you are supposed to start your one line poem, with the last word from the line before you. So you should be using the word ‘downfalls’)
Downfall is upon us, the decision made was unwise, it will lead us to our demise
Demise is a gift of once last chance, the devil asking you to dance
Dance is a distraction from addictive frothing floors.
Floors give out underneath me, and I simply plummet
Plummeting - Painful flight, falling past purple feathery furrows
furrows of memories paint my mind in sorrowful color.
Color me, for I am made of black and white.
White is easily sullied, easily dirtied, easily besmirched.
Besmirched is the reality we face before us.
Us- why is it always about us? What about them?
them is not the word on my lips, since when?
When will you let the words flow true, and not the sour twisted phrases you utter in the darkness.
The darkness you call home but has been choking my insides for so long
long hours stretch into long days as we work ourselves away
Away to a world for the people to good for this one
one too many shots keep you talking like “I StiLL LovE…HMmr”…like what?
what is left to gnaw on when only bone-dust remains.