I’m the saddest man on the planet,
Dulcet zones become eruptions of death,
Memorizing vocal tones, or numbing distress,
Most ballads hit home, requiem out of balance,
Such a synergistic release comes from this basket of malice.
I’ll have it to here – 22oz black coffee French press,
Anarchy is best dressed, brown leather, headrest,
Sinning in her black coffee sundress,
It takes a village to raise a child, there’s no one to raise it with us.
Pillaged through blades of grass, photosynthetic assortment,
Spilling your flask till it’s empty, blood served in a brass veil,
Vivider mass pavilion. Mom kept the pictures of Dad, still,
Photo album laminating, magnifying glass on an anthill.
Steel razor tandem. Dear anybody, anywhere who has ears,
In a position to translate this ballad I have here,
Monochromatic Morse code, willing to listen,
Put your phone down, stethoscope to a torso.
I trot through universes I never knew existed,
Thinking of becoming perfect with you seemed so delicious.
I press my lips against windows you’ve brandished,
Just to kiss what you’ve managed to touch,
I’ve become calloused and rough, galloping stallion tusk,
And you vanish.