The interred concrete

The interred concrete calls me back.
The interred concrete that scratches the skies,
calls me back.
Standing like the sentinels of doom.

It’s far better than these festering ears
that speak about a lie
that was meant to be left sacrosanct
inside the decadent womb
of a withering love.

These festering ears repeat the lie
these festering ears have mouths that slyly
repeat the lie.

A lie that cuts through my heart
and gnaws at the base of my skull.
These festering ears of a bastard progeny
these festering ears who think with their mouths.

Spineless like death, they squirm their way into my skull
spilling venom, these festering ears with a thousand tiny legs

The interred concrete calls
to scotch on the rocks
and a second death.
Away from these festering ears who know the truth.

Advertisement