posted on Oct, 24 2016 @ 05:20 PM
The Blessed wreck
Daily grind
Got to somehow free my mind
Chains and shackles
Locks no keys
Lying in a burning pile of dying leaves
Contortions bent on cruel designs
Seeping thoughts both black and benign
Melting masks upon our broken face
Who are we?
What is this place?
Why does it seem I am but a slave
Working to defend my wage
Fingers clawed to bloody stumps
Throat choked tight with anxious lumps
Breathing freely seems a memory
Distant fading through the dark
Who am I to ask for more?
Wake each day with more than most
Then the cycle begins once more
Eating me alive
Shredding skin and bone
I am reduced to nothing more
Than a gore of frothy mess
Who am I to ask for more?