Pour from this bottle into your glass.
Minutes are neither slow nor fast.
What I will showcase holds no mystery.
Its why I gave up on spectacle and ceremony.
Rather I simply wish to speak.
Unfold this tale without going weak.
Cry my mind and not be judged.
Torn from these walls that I’ve loved.
For my hands are cracked…
Blame it on being my final straw.
One more weight and this house of cards will fall.
Snap fingers at a lost goat herder.
Butchered under a single order.
Issued from this old man’s lips.
Same sad soul who delivered quips.
Bonded in these streets of pain.
Wrapped under more tiers of blame.
Crying out for moments of relief.
Washed out by soapy disbelief.
Doused with ethanol and a smile.
Brandished as a weapon behind your bile.
Forever tarnished as if criminal was my calling.
Focus.
Pick bones clean.
Vicious.
Wager out your dream.
Sacrifice.
Barter away your soul.
Madness.
Renege control.
Simon A Jackson - Writer 