Call it inhuman.

A Poem by Lee W. Deason

O, tonight was living in color. Imagination was a bad child.
My dreams spelled horror. To come in my door.
Throwing knives at an innocent woman, and child. Son to bear witness.
What a poison figure in my life, against my eyes.

He stood at the front, and swore he was through.
The day before such promises in reverse.
Embrace this new haze, the one that will suit you.

I've caught a thief with his hand in the cookie jar.
To many illusion alibis coming from your mouth. Cover the red.
Disgusting, I don't want to look at, broken toys.

A sweep of fear, from psycho pathways.
My DNA is so afraid, of echoing.

He stood at the front, and swore he was through.
The day before such promises in reverse.
Embrace this new haze, the one that will suit you.

It echoes, it echoes. He struggles, he struggles.
With unfair people, in his unfair mind.
Open torn bookmarks, for the blind.
Select people seeking, what they want.
It echoes it echoes. No repair, No repair.