Daytime Is A Bastard To My Existence

1

Cast aside, torn apart

by wolves

picked clean by vultures

and sapped of any manhood left

by the desperate 

wishing not to be able to walk

when morning light strikes their thighs

still gleaming from my light

injected into their living

yet lifeless

souls

trudging in the desert, frost bitten by the night

the moon closes the wounds

with songs sung by starlight

till I’m asleep in a dream

sunlight opens them up again

tearing my spirit, ripping the soul

daytime is bastard to my existence

and the clouds are the mob

mocking me with cover

only to reveal rays brighter

sharper than before

eating food takes energy

and it tastes sweet for such

a short time

I wish it never did

to begin with

where I’m walking

mishapen footprints may tell

a flock of crows drone on and on

If only I was David

I’d strike them with thunderous bolts

and eat their brains fresh

as nature  did to mine

when I was born

I was not given eyes to see people

nor the ears to hear them

I can only guess how they feel

and predict after practice

what their words mean

those genuinely cunning

and others

desperate for a one night stand

they’re all bred

from the same cloth

and the fire

turns all to dust

 

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