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The magic eye of waking

Taking cold pills in the sink

The progenous rebellion

Making bold ills sin to drink

A bitter feud unsettled

Nestled in the folds of flesh

A winter mood bed wetter

Settles in the loads of less

Pushing forward through a valley

Alleys drenched in death

Rushing towards four flus

Flailing in and out of breath

Nothing calms this storm

Something dog shit form

It's a trap the sap of love

That drips from trees of norm

They lick and rut and strut

Grave birds proud and free

But nothing comes to fruition

Nothing falls from the dead tree

What will return will burn

Your eyes to crispy balls

Tears are endless

Though they never seem to fall

Nameless, blameless in a sea of open mouths

Hungry, angry, lonely

Choking on their vows