tagNon-Erotic Poetrymanufactured torment

manufactured torment


Manufactured Torment

The nights are cold now though most skin glistens with the heat of summer
The cold I speak of is outside the realm of what we can touch or hold
Through the bone and piercing the soul it thrusts in wild agony of despair
Wanting some reaction, anything, desperate for the void to fill even if it must be screams of pain and fear
Still nothing

Bitter sweet the mind sways and pitches on the seas of remembrance
The thoughts of what could have and should have been throwing themselves over the side
As if victims of a mighty sinking.
Lost souls
They too will all perish as have the ones before them
No call will fall on hearing ears
No life boat or rope thrown to haul them back to the safety of what can be

Fate has no substance
We merely stumble our way through blind faith in the hopes that some man made god
Put into place to allay the fear of life passing and to fatten those feeding off the busty breast of the demon money can take their fill

Swine, two legged bitter manipulators of innocents
Gluttonous hags feasting on withered remains of corpses in the hope that they will line your pockets further
You shall find your hell

As for me, I live it every day'
There is nothing further you can do to me that I haven't done to myself in more ways than your tiny narrow minds could imagine
I have no fear of you or your god.

I walk these streets alone
I battle the seas without help
I reach for the heights and plummet to the depths without your monotone warnings
And I rise again

It is the pitch and toss of the movement of life.

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