And the moon hung low- Its crescent bed, waiting for the dreary eyes- Of victims of diseased or dead- As the blood is tasted from their seething veins- And the moon hung low- On the road- Twisting and turning- Under its insidious crooked...yellow...smile- Hell’s rooftop is burning- Heaven’s gate is broken- St. Peter is out to lunch- Satan is looking for a new gig- Nobodies’ home- “Leave a message at the beep”- The holy war is on- A jihad in faith’s recession- Is taking names- Bursting with brilliant light- As the faithful fanatics walk into the sky- Atop the blood trails of thier enemies- But nobodies home- “Please wait, you will be seated”- Taking baby steps till 25- Photographing feuds with my eyes- Using the heart and the pen- Trying to make sense of it all- The world spinning awe so faster- Heads gone dizzy, looking for my soul- In the mouths of talking trash bins- Did you ask the right questions- Did you look long enough for the right ones- Are you skewed to the bone- Scratching your head- And so the yellow crooked smile- Hung low, arm stretched out- Ready yourself for the lost sleep- On the crescent bed- Before you realized- You’re never really went insane- The world went ahead- And got there before you did-
Reason for writing:
A burp from the unconscious? I don't know.
Birth sign: Libra
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