Pummelled to the deathly : ready but never ready
Unfit, unable, utter promiscuity
An Artist carries the wrong heart altogether
Far-fetched yet… bolstered to the bones of his deteriorating mental health
Missing-in-action
A sinking, lonely soul holds these invisibly laid aces up his sleeve
Pierced by everything – colliding and vivacious car horns, the people that he loves sitting in constant and uncontrollable reverse
Could’ve, should have done
No way home, though he is at home – wherein this snaking, sneering bed with venom on has become… a thing of agonised memories
Failing at these simple things. Where have all of the good people gone!?
From him, still in him. Screaming to breathe for one first time, like a jester minus his natural-born delivery
A living, seething cliché only minus any of the real acknowledgment for now
Homegrown poses a most singular threat – waiting to return to only himself
Where Poet knows best
