Jen Juice

Low lit areas are best when thought less of caressed as a mess
Lost in her wallows of virtue
Turned in meaningless lost and hopeful
Shrouded in a bush left to burn reckless and abandoned
Like the maiden of your perished wreckage
Hated throughout the mind left doctorate
Held two-forced more fruity than the fake
Metal around her neck
When lost in emotional bondage
Found reckless and checked.

Sentenced to torture and rescue
Was a slave in my formative years
Whipped and beaten like the way white
Splatters the walls you lay
Something tells me you ain’t goin’ no where
Impending trees of life lost
Ripped from the masses of my embraces
Coursed and sickened trying to see straight

Only I don’t believe in lines within the straight in arrow…because
Untruths are not where you will find me…this time.

Sometimes I overlap, but not with you (or me)…..

This entry was posted on January 27, 2013 at 7:08 PM and is filed under Jencerpts.. with tags Death, Poetry, wreckage. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response, or trackback from your own site.