A Different Kind Of Damaged

I can only sit and observe the winding streets of your hurt.

Soul Genocide

Into ash and stone leaping downwards. This place would never feel like home.

Thinking of home I am a Universal vagabond with my heart strapped on

In the hovering bowels of mysticism where the cynics hang their hats, she waits to be acknowledged.

You can give a million pieces of your heart.

I can't recall ever longing for silence more than in this moment.

There's a faded line etween reality band time.

And it harm none Mama formed the mission, holding her Bible a glory soaked misfit.

Save the idle banter and the petty, senseless chatter for the next innocent victims of your self created disaster.

I'm on the outside bright color peacock spreading; I own my street, a path forced discreet by tainted company.

My lids are heavy. My brain churns thoughts. I run for home, spooning with dog. Exhaustion. I am aggressive and stalwart.