Expressionism

expressionism..freestyled

harsh like the language of a mute

deep and focused like the blank stares of a blind man

life is like an ambulance in a traffic jam

its like a nerd reading into my situation with too much intellect

the devil waits a croupier cashing in on our ignorance

now my pockets are threadbare from blisterd palms

i become the song sung but whose rhythm is still unknown 

the poem engraved on stone but still,but still unknown

does right of wrong affect destiny or it exists as an element and soul of what is to be?

i stare into the blank but since when does the blank have answers?