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Possessed
This black tar covers my brain,
With viscosity of motor oil from a 1950's tractor,
Wiping every so often but it still remains,
Trauma of life may have been a factor,
Continuously drips finding my crevices of weakness,
Seizing every ounce of good nature it can,
A vicious vacuum for precious meekness,
This twisted consumption is part of some plan,
Barbed wire around ribs puncturing with every breath,
Wounds to never be healed duly,
A hand of tar pumps my heart preventing death,
Even if it's the one thing the sickness seeks truly.
Copyright ©
Garrett Bass
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