A Deviant Pilgrim

What lies at the end of our pilgrimage we may never know because of Our deviant courses and daylight debauchery. Sticking to his face, a tattoo of sleep Scratches his skin through, when it weighs much. Apathy sneaks into his study room and festers. The girl who sleeps on the out-thrust of an indoor balcony, I say this to you, The tailbone of my half awake girlfriend Wrapped around with sweat-soaked blue dress Resembles your succulent heinie. And I am confused in which to drive my desperate intimacy within. The big city ahead with Mists and mountains Oceans and orgy parties and a dull statue of one legged Hen on the busiest square Never remembers people who came through a million marshes to him with hope. Dead memories of old lovers hang by their last block of spine

and sweat soaked again, not the Sweat of love, sweat of a wizened decaying matter. Lonely people walks at lonely beach in the eve To impress the Mighty Ocean, to offer allegiance. lonely people are often restricted from the rim of their smartphones Just like Shiny knights in the Pinnacle of the City Castle Dead memories come alive in soft dreams. Scars of sleep have made a mask out of his face. Deeper than a tattoo, deeper than a skin, our deviant pilgrim has found its way

to the land of the creatures of remembrance, loved like one's own kin.

Author's Note

Reviews please. ^.^