The Suits We Wear

Somethin’ ain’t right in the world.

I find more comfort in the company of demons;

The ones created.

Inner thoughts and outward expressions

Scrambled. At least they talk to me.

I walk the town, see the angels shrouded

In demonskin. They point and gossip.

Lucifers, the lot of them

Yet without any power or reign.

Am I in their Hell, or are they in mine?

It’s okay though, I know you, hear you

And feel the same. I wish I could shed

My angel-suit.

We are on the brink of a new age, a better

One with a corpse in the driver’s seat.

Other Poems

Humble Robotic Testimony

Humble Robotic Testimony

Metal scrapes along my breast, And I wonder what I should do next. No, not should, but could achieve. But...

I picked a budding rose

I picked a budding rose

From a field of fallen sunflowers. From a field of fallen sunflowers.

Life is not a Highway

Life is not a Highway

And I don't have a car. I have a ticket for this seat And some time to kill.

The Sign of Oblivion

The Sign of Oblivion

With bare walls and lit roads, No real thoughts unfold along Busy streets and empty souls, Shambling...