Categories > Original > Poetry
Sparrow's Spew: A Satire in its Utter Failure
1 ReviewsDesignate to detonate, the truth will come once we meet bitter ends.
“Are you animals just ghastly beings? Have you come to kill me? Why? What have I done to you? Or is it just because I stand for someone, a purpose that you cannot ever see.”
Maybe I'm your lost starry-eyed deadlock.
In my dreams, there is darkness. Nothing else but a bleak street to walk through. Heaven doesn't pay for cigarette stumps. You know, the ones I cherish; the ones you stomp out. No matter how far from you I go, no matter where my fucking brain splatters...know that I won't ever be there.
I'm not your lion.
Fair, fair, a dare.
Played so well, so dashingly, by the mind of a blind bank robber...is it so true? And how do you get the right to shimmer “innocent” tears out of your circling orbs? It doesn't suit you; being human. You layer and layer and plaster on face over face as spiders crawl from the branches longing to be dead roots, rising themselves to your level.
The bullet cries out in agony, crashing in reverse, pulling your insides out. The gun steams, whispering to the clouds 'Did I do good, daddy, oh, did I?'. Risen to the Gods, you whimper one last incomplete thought.
The metal lace slips from my grimace. Peaceful prince, floating on a skeleton cloud.
But the strange thing that happens is that I feel.
I'm real and I'm watching you break. Oxygen won't hold your arms enough for one last prayer. One more confession...
And who knew? All it took was my smile.
Maybe I'm your lost starry-eyed deadlock.
In my dreams, there is darkness. Nothing else but a bleak street to walk through. Heaven doesn't pay for cigarette stumps. You know, the ones I cherish; the ones you stomp out. No matter how far from you I go, no matter where my fucking brain splatters...know that I won't ever be there.
I'm not your lion.
Fair, fair, a dare.
Played so well, so dashingly, by the mind of a blind bank robber...is it so true? And how do you get the right to shimmer “innocent” tears out of your circling orbs? It doesn't suit you; being human. You layer and layer and plaster on face over face as spiders crawl from the branches longing to be dead roots, rising themselves to your level.
The bullet cries out in agony, crashing in reverse, pulling your insides out. The gun steams, whispering to the clouds 'Did I do good, daddy, oh, did I?'. Risen to the Gods, you whimper one last incomplete thought.
The metal lace slips from my grimace. Peaceful prince, floating on a skeleton cloud.
But the strange thing that happens is that I feel.
I'm real and I'm watching you break. Oxygen won't hold your arms enough for one last prayer. One more confession...
And who knew? All it took was my smile.
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