Silent violent course of destruction, your assumptions of knowing the end; what could be, would be, but not the course of knowledge and pain to the brain.
If not awake, then asleep to fallow clouds only to fall from the sky with wings on fire to fall in to ash; to hit the ground with soft thoughts in there heads.
You like the blank sights in your head it gives you time to think about nothing.
Fall in to the blank, fall in to this vermillion sky; the drugs won’t keep you high they will only bring you down embracing your frown.
Sing in your head your melody of silent violent; you brain dead fool sing your soul to sleep while your children cry and weep for the comfort of you to see them again in your arms and not under your feet.
By John M. Pride Jr.