Second Sight

The secrets that we hold
Broken chain design
Reaching for the stain
Unholy or divine
Rotting in the silence
The drones are on the move
With wretched willingness
Deliver all the goods
Forget all your regrets
Strangled by the cables

Siren searing pain surrounds you
Moves along your scrawny neck
Another touch will rearrange you
Decibel and needles click
Indistinct but true no less
A fire spreads without a jest
Acquaintance quelled without a press
We are slaves to be distressed

A crippled gazing lighthouse beam
Directing me to be unclean
Stories made to look like seeds
To feed the need of weak is ease
Bed knobs rattle at the sound
Of monsters waking underground
Remember breath as second sight
To guide your fear without the light
Rapid terrible desires
Begging change and redesign
The seldom spoken culprit is
The ego, overbearing id