Subtle

The smoothest crimes, are perfected subtly
Less asphyxiated, too little to be this much
Punctuation marks, shouldn’t be judged
Slamming doors shut, shunning the ambient
A hollow sand dune you dip your head in
And walk in, with your hands
I mean,
To be quite honest
Sometimes I walk for miles and still wonder where everyone’s at
And other times, I look straight at you, without moving, and crumble
Fear of abandonment; and all you did was abandon
Attachment disorder; and all you did was pull and cut
Hold and slaughter
The wire that wasn’t meant to be touched
Or so it said
On the last note you left
After all,
Smooth crimes are subtle

Defranchise your soul

This perverse utopia
Makes me question
The myth that won’t wash away

Anything is as everything you want it to be
An epidemic for a cure

Cattle getting sick; slaughtered
To protect the herd
Its head, bowling downhill
Undead

Whether you’re the weapon, or the target
Or the trigger
For the unsincerities of the seeker
You are just as responsible

Either you sink the ship,
Or let me go

Whether you invent fire
By friction and stones
Or
Defranchise your soul

You,
Awoken mirage of dreams
See it for what it is
Yet take bread for loaf

Them,
The perfect example
Of monsoon running through their veins
Fate decided for them

Gentle, be gentle
There is a thin line, between being honest
And being a dirtbag
Don’t cross it

A subtle ascension

But that’s home,

and jasmines lose their fragrance overnight.

The Holy Spirit, should never be compared

To the spirit unfulfilled, gravely disturbed.

Maybe an amputee can tell the pain of pruning, branched trees

Persistent in their reform to grow inward, rooting soil deeper than sticks and poles

Yet, like antennas clashing with the nearest catastrophe

The human mind wants to reverse the white noise, into a state of rhapsody

Maybe a thing or two makes you think, maybe question

Have you thought of all that doesn’t?

Weaklings thinking themselves good had they lame paws

And transparent egotism, a way upward, a way away

A word or two makes you heal. A sentence that turned into a squeal

A laugh that wasn’t laughter

It is subtle ascensions like these, my comrade

That regurgitate prayer, back to the monk who took a vow of silence for his remaining life.