Marauders out on the roads again.
Bandit clans forever closing.
Violent minds with vicious wishes.
At best you might survive only needing stitches.
Barren souls strung out on years of misery.
Falling faster than even societies decree.
Poor and rancid are conditions to survive.
Only the putrid have any chance to make it out alive.
Twisted talking in favour of sickness and pain.
Brain collapsing from all the rot I can’t contain.
Bitter pills won’t fix the fractures all around.
Every second betrayal engulfs thoughts with sound.
Killers coming for this mountain of snow.
Civility dies in the face of consuming so much blow.
Fratricidal with moments of true lucidity.
Born from this Deus that we can never ever see.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 