My Place: the Flesh of Flashy Bait

I fear that you are lonely, so I hope I pull you in, My place is warm, but quite a mess, I’m glad you have stepped in, My space is has been divided, By the mad, the sane and should, We’ll take a tour, but just be warned, It’s no blissful neighbourhood, On your right shoulder, a bulb burns your polyester, A fickle light to, a forest of wooden floors, Dotted and then cut, you go under, Below the fleeting veils of a whispered law, Beyond the currents, in which you blister, To part the grip of the mantis clause, And end the starlight, which piles upon, A playground spun with metal shores, Leave your thoughts, for we have just passed, The madness, I still endure, But don’t breath relief, for their is still some believe, That the sane could be called the unsure, For no nature, is the nurture, To those impossible... deep-cutting dreams! And kill me if I wonder, or even so ponder, within your immeasurable means! For I’ve lost my heart, and my so called soul, To a place that you have termed ‘real’, Where every action, bland in its satisfaction, Entices the ungrateful to feel! Lastly we come, or so stumble upon, A world that I label the should, It’s here where you deal, with feelings unreal, And I question what you understood, For this is a place, where my angels, you may sleep, Amongst the livestock and the hay, Groom each other, Or sharpen your claws, Just rest my birds of prey... And so a place is all it takes, To become estranged with everyday, Where a seconds a second, And not a moment left in wait, Just another attention spun, Around the flesh of flashy bait,