Disorder Poem by Dorian TheCat

Like iron fingers
Grips the blade of my shoulders
Twists and squeezes
A pain for no reason

I attempt is always to kill the cold
Avoid the negatives of the world
My life wants the light
But stumbles upon unforeseen plights

Maybe it is the job I hate
Maybe the high-ness of him
Wealth can easily spoil a goal
When wealth outgrows the soul

Reasons could be too many
On thing is for sure
I must find a way
Before others have their say

16 June 2010, Sydney