Why yell for hell if one’s a self-terrifying macabre twist
It’s in your finger tip dancing to your devil’s tune
Hazy conscience arrival kill your guilt-filled gut
Light’s discrete sight dig wells of generation boredom

Blocked them all by western fences, precise offences
To wear an air of freedom(?)or may be defensive(!)

fish in glassy buckets swims shallow to exhibit
fashion fins in violence of tiding lashes
splashes out survival liquid for a damned changeling
those visitors,those claps,those crowns from refracted mirage

life stands well without that ‘f’ like lush weedy deeds
guarded in rusting gate of ferrous red hate, caging self in

rather flexible wiry fingers once along ‘real’ contours
zooms in as shadowy skeletal grills to crash forehead
fixed bleak stares gets slapped sucked inside their magnified ghosts
corrects in positioning like an unfailing death messenger’s act
lowers down over your  evil’s dwell of fleshy grape pupils
covering them whole to blacken even the sun
blanked till mountains of any love seems hidden
crushing hopes of survival to a valid question

no way you see..when cosmic air flows in action
eaten to shatter posed bent of interrogation
permeation into your core, can you stop?
waking up sleeping lights in wraps
deprivation of this diffusing religion never does happen
bit of universal soul you hold would never be an orphan
bitterness that binds you now are from fake life options
passing clouds on scurried exit making you a fungal doormat
wobbling skeptical creature fearing this rarefied cosmic jacket
no better entrance you can envisage, just hold on this moment
stand still as you are, see clasping holds in infinite increments


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