Constant nightmares, yet their pulling
Shackles–daunting, vicious, spiteful,
Full of pacts and bonds of sorrow–
A delightful null of actions;
Haunting quite, yet also lulling.
Soon the cull will heighten on the
Day I lack more mulling flights of
Ponderous inaction; sullied
Might long gone; a manufactured
Strength; a hulled-out, frightened non-thing.
Fondly might I choke in gulfs of
Hack positions; on a tightened,
Miserable racking onto
Right out dull rat-racing packed in
Haunted nights if pulled by waking.
Pulled from blighted, monstrous living
Acted in my skull, it might be
A delight, the fact of bondage;
Sad the plight and want, but cracked once
Sultry sunlight wakes all, yawning.
Condemnation lights refulgent
Lanterns backing future sites and
Days of vultures, black-winged, gauntly
Fighting; stultifying tasks of
Squandered sight of hopefulnesses.
Full of tightening and long hours
Wracked by dullness and delighting,
Conning, acting for indulgence
Right? Consumers jack my future
And my soul; I'd rather sleep on.
A place for my poems 