Stains on the Scenery

Beggars are now choosers as the weight of worlds dangle by ankles grip on the catwalk over the abysmal 

grayscale of eternities past every now and then.

System defaults as the synthesizers bleed the hearts daily in seasons well versed in full rotation.

Fingernail drag marks indent in the freezing cold while emotions ride high.

Numb to the sensations as the date we crashed as vehicles of life whose wheels 

aspire to reunite on our roads so broadly forked leading down roads that lead to nowhere.

Focal points of where the honest reviews marked us off discounted goods damaged beyond the 

sellers' remorse warning buyers we are not bargaining for too much.

Conjugal visits of excessive force to bring us in off the ledge but the weight of impact pins us against the 

walls of back rooms we buried ourselves in.

Trauma bonds tied so tightly that they lead us back to the scenes of the crimes but

omitting guilty, confessing gaping mouths full of brutal honesty that changes the narratives

of our zealous dreams homes. 

If karma was a real law the applicability would rebound in concussive force scrambling what little

sense that is worth much less now. 

Short circuits that disintegrate in the highwire passing of time, winds of change eroding the act, and begging for us to take the leap.

A fatal flaw so sickly sweet

Begging for the brief blinking out of relief.

Sweetness of death only in the state of mind of our mistakes.

Careful boy.

Caution now.

Calm down.

Release the snares.