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...
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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.
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Growling
Quarters
Quarters
I try not to think too fondly, when we played
Quarters in the classroom
Until our knuckles became bloodied...
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