necromancy
Nine months & it’s like
I’ve never been sober
saturated blue, call me a
heavy dream.
Running away is a understatement,
I conceal in chaos to
avoid it, the phantom
goals of futuristic.
The hometown is same
though some things has
changed; there’s a purple
shade of light falls through
like early December decoration, on the
living room window -
lissome my eyes, the shop lights,
a cadaverous feel do not leave
me alone; it reminds me of the
green bids that I dreamt of, in my
blood, & it reminded of the kids from the land where
everything belong; is, green,
even their supposedly flesh & skin.
Fainthearted folks around these
place : nobody fills the place with
grace, the chains & stars to wear,
the strings in the sky, living mere,..
the cut so minimal , nobody appears
to speak about;
mercy , the point of
view of kindness; people say socially,..
tagging me “hypocritical” but you’ve never
tried me.
It’s all fired up, the forest,
streets, you can define me; but
you can’t really define me,
The solitary living in you; I haven’t
really seen;
All that gimmick
to buy what? To happiness
my letter is, hope it finds you &
(you) get your soul enriched, like you
pretend (it to be), please stop liking things
just because they are on trends, hope
in future, we can be friends.
I’ve a issue list & issued lists are in
head due; Problems are solving games
Shortage of raps
short age in working mines; and breaking things
baby dreams fossilized ,
I, do I like the color
yellow;
Foolish, dirty in mud
stashed everywhere, &
a splash of sunshine.
A song for sunflowers
when hope spring on
the strings; of guitar , &
bitter words of plenty truths,
Somethings indeed. .
In there are, that
the things that matter,
all colors, but not
every scope of thought is sleek.
Good can be better
bad is notably not ,
bills & museums, history
teach us, I barely
run way , escaping into
blind wraps of black,
mooning around having candies
and slash
“and / or “-s
We can rove up in the
goods of nothing more,
Partly people agree, &
I see them leave;
People that are young likes
things easy, but here
I’m, where I am going,
not knowing, I feel the
moon remarks me, left me
feeling old, but I’m
not thrifty. But going
is not bad, but
not that good all the
time; when we were
kids, we didn’t have to be
enemies, only we pretended in
game, now we pretend
of being friends.
Less the people you know
better or things can get
stressed, purling gaunt as in capital letters -
More the voice
it turns out like jack
(& you become a blind sheep)
blood out of your ears.
(Trying to get the depth)
Feel like seventy years old on
a ladder, looking ,
out there, originality
when will bless in,
The remembering of
past; startling silly
incidents, laughing
whole-heartily , what let
me recognize now?
We are doing maybe alright;
just mistook
To the bony ladder &
to the outlook of
skins, world is filled with holy
puppets; hope we
are whatever we are,
not that in this,
My life by any other
name, often heard;
thy enemy is self.
Descend of love,
I may can speak
decor into the gate,
to yourself, entering
the high & low form,
like now choose yourself
to be your morning
star.
~CoalSoul