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Wanderer
Blistered and bruised
A man with no destiny to lose
Simply randomizes his existence
Self mutilation however he may choose
A soul selling machine
Nothing truly malignant
Just lacking judgement
And abundant in ignorance
Everything is wounded
All he understands is the hurt
He's already deaf to his own screams
And oblivious to the Earth
His needs are his only focus
But when he lacks necessity
A blank kind of life becomes
An already realized obscenity
Grinded to the bone
A man wasted by time and treachery
Lifted by illusions
Burdened by what he's left to see
A graveyard inviting him in
A sweet sound of burning flesh
A hypnotic wave of rhythm
A blissful lack of distress
Digging a pit into his soul
Where he may lay to sleep
The ground hard and cold
Still allowing the rest he needs
Death can be a comfort
As can pain and the sight of blood
But succuming to these false hopes
May be a devastating loss to a loved someone.
beautiful
masterpiece