The Crime Scene

Basically a super metaphorical Freeverse poem about high school. Other that that, it follows no pattern except my pulse.

Masturbating on the back of fleas,

Man-stir-debating, groins fully loaded,

Importance flicked like the tail of a dragon flee,

Distressed into the dispelled of the sleep. 

A boy to be, free, me;

And you. A congregation, bustled rhymes,

Twigs in the tempest, calling to the Heath,

The stiff of idle gaily falling from the Cliff.

Suddenly, soon, far from the moon!--

A rhyming wind percepts a losing mare,

And youth gathers round like a bread-less swine

Wanting at the expense, expense of wanting, wanting, more.

The ceremonious cry. Dead. Dead.

An official with bread. Bread. And the children gather

Like battles of thread, and the swipes of gratitude from their

Brow come feeble-ing out like

Oh, mama, it could've been me, it could've been me,

And a soft embrace for embrace's sake, oh child, oh child-

My brave and sweet courage. The child is gone, another nightmare, 

A future ravelled upon the foot-stop.

I think, I feel, I would, would, if I could, could--

The crime scene stirred quite a chill in me,

So much so I could not be -- and a steel splint in my heart,

Insanity justified, glad for this, glad for 

That, turned like a sickle into my autonomy 

Anatomy comes spindling out, implores sense,

And I beg. The crime scene stirred a chill in me, 

I saw the king, he gasped, he gave

And then the crime scene, a perimeter of me,

A squadron of contempt, a mask of oceanic Flea,

He drunk from me, my veins a health of him,

I canst, I couldst, I wast. 

(I saw the imagined feeble,

I saw the man asleep, I saw him leap;

The scene was quite a chill to me, 

My humanity quite devout to it.)

Author's Note

Just feedback please. I don't want any technicalities; just opinions.