random likeness to any other one,
i admit I am but a shadow of a son.
the drum beats deep in my brain,
and I fail all those I maim.
like ice melts, so does my soul.
and like the moon eclipses, my heart is coal.
empty streets and flat meadows,
line the plains of my minds avenues and,
with the slight bend of the left side,
i twist, turn and contort to get a clearer view.
a clearer view of something which does not exist.
it does not happen, nor does it present.
run run run
say, who do you think is behind all this?
a child? spinning his wheels and blowing in the breeze?
likely.
grown ups have only one type of sardonic nature;
the painful type.
i have fallen from a grace which had little grace at all.
written under the influence by
jeff campagna
