Mutation Poem by Ace Of Black Hearts

Mutation



A misguided sense of therapy.
Voices that keep rambling on and on.
Roll the bowling ball as many times as you want.
And watch the pins to continue to come back up.
Without it some of us our nothing more then a fish tossed ashore.
Soon to die and be harvested as someones next meal.
And the bell rings, this time it is my turn.
I will spin the wheel of chaos and let the pieces land where they may.
Rotted corpses as the words I leave to lay.
Eating a prayer or two only to regurgitate it and spin it another way.
How quaint, how ordinary, how uniformly ornate.
Thoughts docked a row, and tied in a pretty little pink polka dotted bow.
You do the sowing, and I'll do the reaping.
Throw him under the bus, and watch the body over time decay.
Disintegration, eradication, degradation.
Assimilate to the unabated.
Here's the bad seed be sure to water it very frequently.
An irregular adaption to ones environment.
A moth that can no longer be burnt by flame.
A wild beast never to be tamed.
A train wreck way ahead of its proposed time.
Read my mind, show me how good your really are.
My darkening little star.

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