The Sand Between My Toes
covered in stains
Where do heaven’s bright angels go
when the world so far below
has fallen into the pits of fire.
The series of anguish.
The restless desires.
the crazed, lonely slayers of sanity
drifting through life at the speed of
sound as sirens scream and red voltage pulsates
through electric air.
Even the moon was red the other night
It shone a clear path upon the water.
Beckoned us to walk.
Like we could. Indeed we might.
Reflections of electric red voltage
or bloodshot eye ducts tears run dry.
Pools of empty.
Shades of silence screaming at my soiled conscience
about moments of pleasure followed by lifetimes
of pain and guilt and hatred for myself.
My lowly loathing earthly flesh.
surrounded by temptations. Surrounded by the fright. The evil overcomes me. Again.
My glory hides behind their eyes.
The angels who visit those not sleeping. (slipping)
Shelter those who are weeping
not for themselves, but for they, the world, the plight. The very sight
of it all.
if only briefly, could they weep for me?
my stains. my stains.
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