The roots of yesterday hang above,
And it drips of the blood she loves.
Pain in the echo of each drop,
As it lands by her painted foot.
Migraine of issues that can't express,
The abuse that is found with loneliness.
I find the words but it teases me,
And this seat I sit on collapses.
Windows cave and bats lapidate forests
Of my home, of my world, of my son.
And as the petals of my children sprout,
They scream with an influence.
The floor boards crust and splinter,
As it lands me facing this gun.
With no use and no purpose,
I trigger it to the ground for my feelings
To stop asking me to fire elsewhere.
And only with these feelings, I swear,
That I need to route and ask him,
But without using a question mark.
I squint with impurity and self confusion,
As I see the red wall drip black,
Floating with the bodily fusion,
And the Joop that he wears.
He wants to live a perfect life,
A perfect life that I can't give.
But perfect in the eyes of an opinion,
Is a desire which we can't live.