Disorder

Crooked eyes can have pierced visions
Into a land lost with haze.
Deflected angles send off angels,
Far away but i still cry out.
Disorders creep out from my veins,
Defining the box i lie in.
Right choices, upon corners,
Sharp critics to a degree.
When did i cross over,
The line of my reality.
How do we depict,
The shapes of our face?

Faint shadows harvest details,
When eyes are void to your frame.
Like a bloodhound in constant search,
Your floods rinsed in new scents.
You’ve made me despise our form,
As new faces turn upright.
Open my horizons,
Escape me tranquil life.

Breathe curved wind,
Even out the ridges in your breath.
Take out what you’ve taken in,
Sins to habits,
Then never again.
Now, inhale fresh oxygen.

By: Tyler V.Quarello
    (Trip)