Pleasure turns to ash as life metabolizes in a moment’s stomach.
Fervently gobbling sights at the gate, our sacred images empty.
Burning fast under smiling masters that cost more than our take.
Inside out our life’s blood has no place and all we see is red.

 


 

Gaffed flesh void of anesthetic pulls our strut down upon unframed mattresses in the forgotten corners of a world ever burning. With a short-lived smile we sit as if happy with our unfit dwellings, whispering faithless prayers in secret, making efforts to coax an aching fear while ignoring the monsters. We petition iron skies to take away pain but to leave the needles with unwavering rapidity and an ignorant tone of privilege.

 


 

Pleasure turns to ash as life metabolizes in a moment’s stomach.
Fervently gobbling sights at the gate, our sacred images empty.
Burning fast under smiling masters that cost more than our take.
Inside out our life’s blood has no place and all we see is red.

 


 

A confounding irony witnessed in survivors that painfully choke on tears, bear heavy weight contrasted by fat numb and searching for happy crowds barrels down to present rewards. Courage is pitched as merely painting over. masking a set time for moral lapse. Familial vandals see no crimes against people but provide penance for misdeeds readily in view of an audit. The flapping lips of a devil’s advocate rattle loud in the narrow canal of bias. Trotting by a samaritan’s work eager to succeed we rush by the poverty that lay in the world’s ditch.

 


 

Pleasure turns to ash as life metabolizes in a moment’s stomach.
Fervently gobbling sights at the gate, our sacred images empty.
Burning fast under smiling masters that cost more than our take.
Inside out our life’s blood has no place and all we see is red.