Level of lunacy
true to me.
Who is he
and why is he
so close to the edge?
That's just the shadow.
I'm years over the cliff
and through the narrows
still picking at bone marrow
scratching through the scraps
that I've scraped
while entertained by your
concept of a narrow escape.
Mind in a harrowing state.
The tip of the arrow through nape
that sealed your neck with your cape
before your spine dented the pavement.
Villainous pill
barely thrilled with theatrics
treating the actress
like the stunt double.
Anarchist antagonist
forcing the lead role
to cleave holes trapped under rubble
just to perceive the damsel in trouble.
Close enough to cuddle
before the hack and slash
stashed beneath the sash
that will disclose the wounds.
Confinement without the cage.
Concentrated conscious rage
that incremental age cannot impede against.
Seen where sense is barely common.
Scene with scent that rarely I'm in.
Nowhere close within the light.
Dark the shroud in plain sight
stainless when the rain hits
the skin against the cloth.
Thought spared after the action
regardless of reaction
or what factions stand in resistance.
The meager and the masses
will watch in horror
as the scars form too wide to scab over.
Stabs over target points.
Grabbed and disbarred the joints
to stand over like a druid
witnessing you lose your fluid
and your will to breathe.
No deed performed for need
or reaction
or retort.
No plot or penchant for greed.
Lost on logic.
Lustful sport.
Fallen Angel with black wings.
Feathers dark and talon sharp
ripping clothes,
slicing toes
and uprooting the concrete rose.
Testament to lack of mercy certainly.
Certain he discovered
hovering over
simply slumping you over
like my subject for dissection.
Vanguard of dereliction
much more physical than political in vision
and you still can't perceive
although a view this scenic
displays the genius indecence
of the beast marked Phoenix
circling back
before you fall back
as your essence is ripped raw
while the rest hangs from the claws.....
Written By: Devin Joseph Metz
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