Paint it black.
Set it down.
Light the match.
Wait for the bang, bang, bang.
Salacious with your venom tongue.
Too late is not so far gone.
An overdose from what awaits.
Break the seal, sound the alarm.
Way beyond a time to call for calm.
Paint it black.
Set it down.
Light the fuse.
Wait for the final disease.
Wretched in unncessary moments.
Simply to pick at my components.
What sort of soul does that?
Answer is in the mirror, staring back.
On the precipice of a global crack.
Paint it black.
Set it down.
Pull the trigger.
Nothing survives death bringer.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 