Calls From The Confused

Beached upon a sand drift, is how I feel I am missed.
Scattered by the seas of an endless sky of moons.
Patchwork mosiac I’m not sure how I lose.
Segments bathed in the lights of darkness.
Somewhere out here is the harshest,
Memory of a moment faded by the hour.
Climb up high that shadowy tower.
Jekyll is hyde except when he is not.
Comments delivered from the most beligerant.
A case of purpose but not a purpose to point.
Upon these hollow wounds we do anoint.
Cartilege stripped down until there is just bone.
These are skilless entities unto which to hone.
So speak the truths and let them lie.
No, it is correct to call them all a cry;
Desperate to the sails upon mighty waves.
Into pits that we demand to call graves.
No pause for thought until the crash.
It happens like a lightning flash.
Blinded in the strobing effect.
Here is where the portrait will show what is correct.
A stagnant sea into which we dive.
Jealousy is the beast for which to strive.
Tainted view of spectral suns.
Pressured piece drenched in blood eagled lungs.

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