Sermon

A Boy With Roses

Rooted in gravity I am a shell of who I was, trying to get back to who I used to be. I cut off my ears, trying to make things right. I got lost along the way. Chasing after the nebula flame. 
I pray for my sins, between the mountains of reality and truth. Looking in on childhood nostalgia, drunken nights. Sermon of life, set me free. Sermon of life.  
Masturbating on top of the world. The stamen soaks in the white light, beyond another surmise. I wanted to copulate, but can't see through the tears in my eyes. Seeking a surrogate.
I ran and fell, completely distralt. Reading the suicide note. I wash away the chalk, the herringbone. I do it because I am alone, made of stone. I thank the night spectre, kine walk alike. A kite of carbon monoxide.   
I see the macrocosm spinning in blues, breaking the stricture. A funny little picture. Walking beside my pride, absolute in the surplus censure.
The red soaks in the leaven, inchoate. Galloping faster than a Trophy steed. It's too late, too late to succeed. Over, over the rainbow's inkling. Over the sward of the cavity. I can feel myself sinking into blackness, sweet isles of golden nothing. Held thraldom in the state. I am used as the cat's paw, taking strides in a catacomb. I feign, death is the perfect home. The life of the luminay, blind to the caveat, I look for mirth, solace in every rebirth. Near death. 

  • Author: Jordan Cash (Pseudonym) (Offline Offline)
  • Published: May 9th, 2021 16:45
  • Category: Unclassified
  • Views: 42
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