deepundergroundpoetry.com
Fortune's Flavor
I'm the fool but you're the hangman
Starved by every word
I'm the itch and you're the scratch
Lulling manic thoughts disturbed
Pulling teeth is what I do
When fangs rip through skies
And I lose all sense of worth
Until I cheat your eyes
A tide that rips me under
Shackles up my clever hands
In patches I disparage
As my lips start spewing sand.
Starved by every word
I'm the itch and you're the scratch
Lulling manic thoughts disturbed
Pulling teeth is what I do
When fangs rip through skies
And I lose all sense of worth
Until I cheat your eyes
A tide that rips me under
Shackles up my clever hands
In patches I disparage
As my lips start spewing sand.
Published 2nd May 2022
Author's Note
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