The bliss in the hypocracy of a face,
extending digits to catch an eye!
we are all pleasing the wrong gods!
residential ghosts as strings of guitar,
plucked and resonating from head to toe;
to elevate an orchestra of feeble tones!
the drowning soul clones into mud into sand,

give me you'r hand; give me you'r hand!

O galloping faceless stallion, o beast!
O shivering cold hypnotic sneeze!

let my friend be with joy with feast,

for who needs company when death it is!
for what weighs more than a withering spine!
the eternal fate muffled in the beats of chest,

for i couldn't keep a promise of death,
i have saved a hypocratic last breath.
© ZiaD