Poem: Wrought

Wrought

Beyond physicality and flesh

There waits the ever dying dream

Alive to death and living absent lies

Repairing forceful quests of yesterday

While sacrificing future breath

To keep on breathing smoke—

Ahhhhhhh—

And again

Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhh—

Bitter lunged and aching aching

Faking pain and peace together one

In super-human-ficial prayer

Raging in the reason floods have counted

Treason pestilential

Full of splitted flesh and rot—

Rot of the soul

The never-dying facing fact

Begun when all was laughter—

Finding good in poverty alone forever

Filling foreign dust with absence underdone

Disgust discussed this once

And found it good to seem mere halves of everything permitted.