When will it end
When's it going to stop
Are you my only friend?
We play dress up..
In front of the mirror
Sans cracked upon
the fractures of my
mind..Simply left
on top of the doorstep
Emptyness and chilling
decor-Sweet taste of
the infinity..Saccahrine
spellbinding..Glimpse
inside..the echoes of
stereo and hi-fi
stone tool cast of lye
So spread you open
and look inside
Nose around and feel
where you might hide
Do you smell something
burning? It's the
petroleum jelly toast
again..always stuck
here again..crunch and
munch a suicide triscuit
with rat infested oh
so belly ached and twisted
The crown I wear is just tinfoil
and dusted...
My angels wings
are not to be trusted
sprinkles the dust
on my tossed salad
and dress-up and
make believe the
foam and frosted
Ginger snaps and
ice cold milk and
a bit of misconceived
ill-desired thought
and no gentle
mis-abused cancelled
and caught
Right in the middle
Stuck here again
More likely than not
Change the channel
Or change my mental angle
Curtains and shadows
Rip chords and messed up'd
The loaf of gasolene
Spent sugar in my tank
Balsamic vinegar
and Arabian nights
Flying carpets need not
the fuel of dead dinosaurs
Indeed, just a little something
frantic and a wee bit satanic
And blind trust
faith no more...
By Rick Weber
April 16, 2011
copywritten
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