Slumdog
A dime for a lie, a lie for what is his; his father endows him, a bouquet of lies. It carries no promises nor paradise dreams, distorted smiles, and cries of scream. A bloody caress by a muddled stream. The lawful dues held by the'Wed' are charcoal cold as the led. He craves to be a diligent son; a father, a groom, a lover like none. Like a stain of wine on a carpet sheet, he resides in disguise, in a tux of steel. Upon the riverbed capped in yellow streaked weeds, sail past the windows that reak of sullen deeds. There the threshold of the livid soul, a detached wife; tailing, a step, a time. Addressing as the laughing stock, beneath the limelight. Levering through a dungeon of fiends, rid of compassion, in guilt, ensnared. A will, a tie, a bind in trap, girdling along in his cavernous sap. Hush...upon the whispers heard, listen close to his aria of dearth.
so lend him a name
not a coward, just a place
a place he belongs
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