H o n e s t y
Open spaces, free or trapped?
Can't brothers learn to just forgive?
Or bake in angst, foil fresh-wrapped.
Just guide me to re-learn, re-live.
Metal is a rougher trade.
High rise skirts and shirts low-cut-
Bro, you think you've got it made.
Apathy, it digs my rut.
Sixty seconds from the moment,
My lips form words that sound so shallow-
Idle lies, an idle comment,
Drown in bile I'm forced to swallow.
Still and silent, almost hating-
Almost, almost sick of waiting.
In the mood for poetry recently. This is more or less a take on Michelangelo, bordering the pre-SAINW universe.