Split Ends
He is the storm inside his head
He is the wave of discontent
He is the salt poured on the wound
He is the tender of his tomb
And still he pretends
He is the ringing in his ears
He is the voice of all his fears
He is the worm inside the core
He is the thief outside his door
And still he befriends
He is the splinter in his brain
He is fuel that fans the flames
He is the line drawn in the sand
He is the nail that splits his hand
And still he contends
He is the ghost under his bed
He is the weed choking him dead
He is the poison in his pen
He is the hate that won’t give in
And still he defends
__________________
Silly monkeys give them thumbs
they make a club and beat their brother down.
How they survive so misguided is a mystery.
|