AuburnScribbler

In Search of Bands

Things that I hold dear,

begin; a sad unravel,

emphasising clumsiness

of what I deem to travel;

 

no perfect choice exists,

thus, pain does make a home,

both upon the sticky stage

and in my safety zone,

 

vice; control; does out me,

as fleshling robot thrives,

protocols; repeating

means; all that human; dies,

 

I try my best to keep,

all what makes me feel,

even if past poison;

stays, to make me ill,

 

looking on the floor,

elastic bands provide,

symbol lightbulb moments;

that I can use to tie;

 

to bundle stuff together,

some joy; that does remain,

which paints my welcome smile,

in their pouring rain!