Ghost By Trade 2.0

Revised version of old poem.

Ghost By Trade

Desolation, alone I can feel my mind shatter like glass.
Sifting my fingers through the shards of gray matter like

worms writhing in beds of soil.

I’ve stomached these streets to no end and there is no

changing direction. I fade in then out of view when

nothing seems to comes into focus.

I could ask questions but some how I feel assured

knowing the answer on a silent slip of the tongue.

I could burn the bridges but oh how clever of you.

I never knew a serpent to climb to the top of human

waste, just like you always have. Just as they always

seem full of ill will. So sick and saturated as life is.

These carnal dreams once disguised as cinders of elation

now extinguished in a pool of paternal urine. Have you

ever seen the face of the dead on a Sunday?

Petty to say the least are those who lack a cause. Come on

let it out! Defeat seems loathsome when it is ones own self

we have managed to destroy. What is this all for anyway?

You thought this was the end yet rest is the last thing that

ill be done. These fragments are wrapped in plastic

concealing a posterior old and new.

Now for the bottom line; nothing truly changes till it dies. I
don’t think I have ever felt so murderous. Pardon vulgarism but

how many ways can you cover up the intentions of a little boy.

I just have never seen the f*****g point of complacence in age

of ignorance. Does anybody see the s**t piling up around them or
is it just the diluted American dream?

I feel proud to never know a waking moment. Who could cover my
facade and would I be less than the cold stricken creature in my own
eye's, if I forgot a single breath taken?

I feel, yet I wish so badly that numb was the feeling. How ironic

it may seem how a coin has two sides that never quite coincide

with face value. Yet I know this vicarious cycle will never end