Drunk now,
Those tiny bits of heart flakes
Gone.
The trappings of life can drive gods mad,
Let alone a common old black boy
Everyday I am soaked,
From the minor trivalities
A girl leaving, a man dying
A sight, winged cupid painted blind.

Sober Again,
I become a museum of fear,
fears buried in those common green old tombs
By a soul sadder than all the Christmas trees in the world.
I walk into the bar
In-out
A boy is cursed, a man is damned
While christ sits in the picture,
Heart in hand,
Musing.

©reach4Max