the taste

rancid bite marks
tattoos of mistakes
swirling in the muddy waters
of past and memories
nostalgia is a bitch
with fangs made of rusted steel
the infection is for the ages
this longing shall not heal
the bitter taste of coal and ashes
can't just spit it out
they will have to rip this jaw out
and this throat, this heart, and lungs
to make this caricature something human
perhaps, mayhaps, there is some hope
no matter how bleak
perhaps, the sun still rises
somewhere in the east
shrouded in the visions of the past
while the future looks on with dead eyes