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Throatless

If life had a colour right now it’d be grey,
or would it be beige?
Frustration channelled through terraced streets,
accentuated, made pretty by
smack of streetlights, painting
pale promise palpable
but dancing on the horizon,
 dark festering boredom
Is a whore for impulse,
 screaming penetrate,
 hoping to animate,
senses  
stored shivering, let’s hope
 the dust hasn’t choked your ideals.
Mine could do with being doused in flame
 and screamed raw,
never known a distraction to get boring before
, brain
 flickers like insect eyes,
inspiration’s meaning suffers degradation
 now it seeps from darker sources,
 pipe dreams disintegrate,
here comes the sun, incinerate.
 I am surrounded by minds portraying
waking evidence of lives decaying, getting
 whittled by attrition.
How can I not have this?
 I still have the naivety to resist.
Marched down a tunnel coated seedy red,
 smells like stagnant death
mixed with perfume,  
a cloaked figure,
red eyes with a devilish sparkle.
 A mind fizzes when instructed,  
asked ‘What’s your eye colour?’
I say yellow like jaundice,  
mind my pupils they’re always dilated.
(reality the iris, pushed aside,
never abated)
Unable,  
take in life like acid,  
discoloration bared naked,
night-strained eyes, whiteness shattered.
I have to say.
 The throatless
howl of a festival comedown,
 seems all too regular now.
Written by heresjohnny97 (Jaw Knee)
Published | Edited 24th Jan 2019
All writing remains the property of the author. Don't use it for any purpose without their permission.
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