Scandal of health

The sun's light bled into my head-

invigorating my breath. health.

I brushed my hair of sin- silk.

Coke to most. dripped, gripped onto the thought.

Shattered it to the tree of hope.

Roots- not squashed, glossed by boots.

The fools.


So I flipped out the patient book.

This one's fatal. lost its soul(foul).

So slit out the grave.

Hope you rest in hell.


Uncomfortable sheets in these hospital beds-

or maybe it's the stupid feds. Crimes can't be defined.

Not as long as the hands lost the body (dismantled thoughts).

Fighting is great, part of fate (hate)- only way to stop the crimes,

is resting in numbers and pictures- where nothing ever made sense,

or so the stairway said, feeding you with the course reproof.


So things finally fell (nothing to do with me) out.

Things are finally over.

Scattered to the windy breath (of the newspapers light), right.


That is, till the next huge bite- of that apple that never dies.