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tepid leaves

There's feelings, not the type a fish
could ever feel, there's a numb-ness
of a sunken soldier.....
not of blazing soldering,
there's the sleepers of poetry,
fake that electrifying in blood
of how you seem and you lost,
and the loyalty and exorcism
and fore-standing of
the beats
of the symphony,
buzzing fleets
of mozzies
swatting loyalty,
sanity
friction
and I just wish
to snap it here.

Use your brain
and forgotten
is the heat
of your......
arrogant beating
of poetry
so stumbling
useless sense-less
of repetition
of your goat of west
or trappings of east
and apparently
not even
in a sense
so transparently
see how
easy that was,
I had a cause.....
and
it was your loss......
I said no of spoken,
Intellectually,
They beat worse than me
of today's heresy
I felt everything
since trembling.

Ask the black hood priest.
I won't argue with him.
I have no war with God,
its the war within,
there's no why but how,
I'm no of repetitive herd,
I wish to flag the fires
until its darkened here,
and razor burns wires
and tepid are the leafs.

My war was never with God,
its the terrors of humanity.
I can't even face myself
in mirrors that had cracked,
in what should have been,
but just another of fairy...
of what should sink underneath
and I'm so in agony
and standing on one knee...

She with a rifle of rust of vest,
she pointed it up to the heavens
when I begged her
to just end this.

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