Bad Karma

Disruptive agents of the blue funk
headbanging around the clock in a slurring loop-line;
a mood piloting through hyperventilations while stranded peacefully ashore
when it would have drown in waters during low tides,
yet strangely with no great expectations nor damage
passing across untamed frothing waters.

Camouflaged are the hatred and apathy, a mouth smiles triumphantly.
The eyes look sad and glimmering in a pool of tears unshed, salt and dirt
rippling the skin to cover it under a layer of premature aging;
the laugh sculpted on the face of people in their hour of death
is the foresight of the bare skull yawned in its awe-struck retardism.

Sliding in a heavy-wielded pace, wetting the pants while composed and spine erect walking tall,
trespassing the surrounding messy indignations uncalled for.
Suffering the flock of fools addressing to him off-stage; a centerpiece in a gush of unrest.
"Deliver us!", they cry unruly.
The freelance confessor indulges in a spree of beatification.
Ah, the always reliable wrench is anointing the drunken itches of yearlings- cheers!
Why do they mar him a lush happiness, edified for the eternal now,
and bows he his head to forged compromises by people who could do more much more, but decline?

Fiascos pile up in galleries of infamy.

The world a stable of con acts.

Dreams blighted and withered away, mildew eating the remaining juicy meat hunks of a
cadaverous soul,
a broken bow.