Much like an insect, I will keep you.
A pin through the heart agonies not counted.
The message is not fully encrypted; it is just ignored.
The wounds healed, yet untreated, the poison has infected the blood.
Cold is the vessel left to its own vices; it becomes something far worse.
One too many shots taken to the head, you appear complete and perfectly fragmented within.
I recall things that erode my emotions yet lose everything that I once did cherish.
Like worn photographs lost to a fire.
I am kept here a prisoner in the trappings of a position, esteemed and tormented to a slow death.
I hold what others desire as I would happily abandon within a moment's notice.
All roads intersect eventually as the intelligent question while the narcissist keep running until the moment they drop dead.
I do not seek sympathy or the understanding in the arms of some tormented idiot equally fucked as myself.
I just wish to know what's beyond a two-way mirrors view beyond eyes that judge what they themselves cannot do yet are ever so eager to watch self-destruct.
Remote living is a mutually viewed joy in an ever-so-twisted undiagnosed disease.
For all those that fly are not birds, more so insects dissected and viewed underneath the microscope's glass.
Prisoners of other's hate masked in pathetic ego.
Pinned in agony for others to study what should be only admired from a distance or simply left the fuck alone.
There is no escape.
JPR, is a southern gothic writer his work has been published in Lothlorien Journal Of Poetry, Horror Sleaze Trash, Spill The Words Press, Impspired Magazine, Fixator Press, Disturb The Universe, The Dope Fiend Daily and Piker Press.
His newest book is Midnight Masochism from Black Circle Publishing.
His work is often dark and always unfiltered.
