I feel sorry for people who don't drink. when they wake up, that is as good as they are going to feel all day. - Frank Sinatra

Immolation


15 nominations

At the mercy of its vibrating freedom, Another spine slaughtered by the base-violin-chill, As mutinous vagrants slip deeper into their guttered dreams, Broken only by stares of disgust and pity. Barrels of pickled livers fuelling the torched landscape, Darkness dancing to the aching of a heartbeat-truth; Tomorrow is born from Today's mourning for Yesterday's corpse. Time slowed by pain extinguished in liquid deception, Glue leaden droplets crusting for cents of sympathy, Dizzying thoughts of nothingness, Leaking hope to be drawn into newspaper-bedsheets, A comic-stripped-life for immolation. A sacrifice forgotten at a blinding intersection, A dissection of misery... Ours for minutes... Theirs for a fathomless road to the lake of fire, A dark new day on hardened tar-pit-rivers winding. Feet ever bleeding tears of a generationless genocide. 24 Sept 2005 (RSA)



© SICKNESS
2005-09-25

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