Time quenches the aches of minds trapped
in unwanted sanity. There, music is rebuked
avoiding lacerated memoirs. The mind, is where
true fear calls home....
Let the sharp heeled boots crush the cracked
porcelain faces and their deceits.
Graveyards littered with faults, marinating in its collected clutter. 
Make clear the trail reclaiming conquest and victories owed.
​
The returning dusk remains darkened for those who trek over true truth.
Let not the foes of onyx and its dark beauty overpower
the ranks of due damnation or its misunderstood mercies.
​Clutch the entrails and read its future.
​
Be vigilant and retalliate against the sycophants thumb's.
Soldier through the hordes of false comforts that hostage aptitude for
creative creation. Breed what takes flight and kill what captives
​the redemption of self and mind. For without both...
falsehood and trickery will slaughter resolution
by it's own reflective existence.


​



​