![]() painA Poem by Tim LionI can only ponder how many other people in this tangled ball of wires, pictures, words, meat and bones feel this deeper pain. at night, the frigid purples and blues of the bruised sky seep into the skin of my hobo heart like the sharp constant aches of a busted world wedged beneath finger nails, jammed between teeth, sprinkled into open eyes. when all passersby seem to have their tombstones tied to their heads, when every window in the metro area is another face crying out for anything real, when even preachers and counselors speak like corroded shotguns and oozy flesh wounds, that’s when you’re sunk in that tarry black sludge. upon breaking the skinned surface, like being born into a new Hell, don’t shrivel like a shrimp with Polio, don’t sob breathy nothings into the bleeding ears that grow on drab walls, don’t drown it in fermented rot, or shoot it down with a sniper needle, just grab your pen, and feed that rotten poison back to the diseased horde who coughed it up at the grizzly genesis of this manmade Darkness. feed it back to the yawning void before it curdles in the hollows of your veins; before it floods the deepest valleys of your wild soul. before you are assimilated into the ragged mass of Empty that sits, undigested, in the bloated bellies of imps and taxmen. © 2012 Tim LionReviews
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6 Reviews Added on March 6, 2012 Last Updated on March 6, 2012 Author![]() Tim LionLake Worth, FLAboutSometimes, when the moon presses her naked chest to my window, and my wife is carving the value from trash scraps, I feel like I may never be able to outshine my finite timeline. And the worst part is.. more..Writing
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