I looked at the world through their eyes but couldn’t bear what I saw . The casualties of self preservation are offered up as a sacrifice in exchange for a few pennies to pay the mortgage. The residue of betrayal leaves an odor that lingers. Accustomed to the smell they’re oblivious to the filth. When they offer you membership you become an apprentice of the ruthless. A ritual is performed where you drink from the stained cup as an initiation, then renounce your virtues to confirm your allegance to the undead. Slowly you lose yourself. A slice here, a chunk there, obtuse to the transformation, conformity gone wrong, you’ll build your castle and bludgeon the condemned with the stones you find at your feet. As you perfect your skills you’ll feast on the weak and revell in your victories. Make no mistake if there is a choice between truth and security the lie becomes the mortar that seals the concrete tomb of your soulless existence.
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Crushed
In Poetry on August 11, 2009 at 4:44 amI looked at the world through their eyes but couldn’t bear what I saw . The casualties of self preservation are offered up as a sacrifice in exchange for a few pennies to pay the mortgage. The residue of betrayal leaves an odor that lingers. Accustomed to the smell they’re oblivious to the filth. When they offer you membership you become an apprentice of the ruthless. A ritual is performed where you drink from the stained cup as an initiation, then renounce your virtues to confirm your allegance to the undead. Slowly you lose yourself. A slice here, a chunk there, obtuse to the transformation, conformity gone wrong, you’ll build your castle and bludgeon the condemned with the stones you find at your feet. As you perfect your skills you’ll feast on the weak and revell in your victories. Make no mistake if there is a choice between truth and security the lie becomes the mortar that seals the concrete tomb of your soulless existence.