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If You Would Call This A Poem
Sober nights don't come to often. Even though my mannerisms speak out like open wounds my mouth doesn't . My mind wanders into the great beyond searching for what ever there is to grab onto. I am not a poet nor a lover. I have never felt the butterflies nor the great climax of contentment. I am simply a man who almost feels as soulless and shallow as a dying tree. Rooted to the damned ground we call earth. Fruited by the people we call family and friends. And withered away by society and the desperation of mankind's purpose to satisfy their lust of what ever they seek to gather. As I watch from birds eye view it is an endless fountain of intoxication that they fill their cups in. And so I have become one of them. A zombie if you will. A human of forbidden ill. A soul wondering aimlessly in the dark of an abyss of unweildin consciousness that we have comfortably accepted. And though the children of the dark walk the planet with crosses flaged towards hell so have people of the light . These demons that prowl through our mind and hearts has blackened our soul with the lust that are pleasured through our eyes and mind , the pain that can be seen through fantasizing over televised programs portraying an artificial art form of love and happiness. I am no longer in a reality of perfection as we were as kids strolling through life's curiosities and wonders. Through mentality of "mommy and daddy got this" . We rely on others ,only to get caught up in others insecurities. We have all made mistakes but I hope your mistakes haven't made you. These words may be stolen, but this heart beats within them.
