grud

there is slavery in comfort
and comfort in slavery
who the fuck wants to go
and break bricks in this heat

the routine will be the death of me
even if I inject chaos in my days
wrapped in duty, am i really free
will i ever change my ways

who the fuck wants to be saved
by angels or demons or ancient gods
there is no truth, no lie, no promises
only a neverending road

and everyone walks

Gunk

Machines junk poetry

Scattered in the rain

The wires in your head now

Don't cause any pain 

Your rhyme schemes

Your time dreams

Drenched in old sweat

Recoil in horror at Father Time's breath

Random moments in a bubble

Atmosphere thick with trouble 

Hands of a clock tick tocking away

On the edge of wakefulness

Teeter totter sway

Gathering the words

Throw them in a bag

Stirring couldren of poems

A wicked old hag

And it's me

Always me. 

night and other perils

the sky is an open wound

festering with poison fumes 

they rise up in pillars of black

color the clouds in grey plumes

everything once alive

has withered and given up

the angels once proud

are sleeping in the muck

night is the final nail

in the coffin of humanity

exhumed, inhuman

it covers the sun

and in the darkness in the doom

the dreamers dream with eyes open

waiting for the stars

that have given up on us, too.

---

it's that kind of day, month, year.