Complacent Ones

Controlled by obsessions no longer can we trust. Cradled by your own indulgences for the cancer eating rust. The waste of time, sifting is the sand. Ever eluding conscience plight, Don't be your own dealer with rigored hand. Epitome just as black as night. A blasphmous horrid smite. Those whom believe the lie are those he leaves behind, The fact that keeps on slipping, contortions twist, bend and bind. The never-ending shifting wind, The ever-changing shapeless water. The repulsive reflection grinned, Scrying straight into the slaughter. Thoughts twist then drifted, Reality is you've been grifted. Epitaph will be all that's left of you, The fortune dwindles and you've never taking hold, Simple are Adam`s atoms of a fu*ktard sold. Should of not contorted. Should have just aborted. Instead of playing the last card. The multiple ignorances of a fu*ktard. Is this just thoughtlessness or another rail laid on the track. Or can it be pure uselessness in a restless mind at nigh in black. And now that it said aloud and it's made so clear, You're lost in the complacent crowd. When you should have just drank some beer.