For the loveless heart
filled with the listless devotion
that comes with being extorted
from a comfortably blank mind.
With all that comes with,
with all that is lost because,
with all that just is,
byproducts of waking up.
Living among angels
who practice dirty deeds
bound to them through
their haunting promise of wings.
Open eyes are hard to come by
when the illusion of life is gone,
when truth is only the identity one holds to them self
when trust is kept in the pitcher's own glove.
Sleep forever child,
living in a world lacking honesty,
the sugar crystals that dance like sweat on a glass
are oh so sour my young fawn.
A widened perception,
such like the reviving of a heart,
it's a necessary shock,
it burns to wake up, it scars.
