Silence Hits Like Thunder

I am the leper’s pen

Flesh canvas dipped in blood

Feasting on Ephialte’s priestly words

His crouched tiger tongue

Betraying gold framed knowledge

Until the baited lamb steals risk for tarpit escape

From ego death’s afterbirth delirium

And jilted martyr comedown

So apathy bites my cored heart

Down to tear moulded seedlings

Gifting the naked royal soil

Future wildflower crowns

To peasants who will never be king

Because I have written away my very soul

To the world’s insolent silence

The deserted colosseum

A sour resting place

For my bruised and disposable words

Picked at and then eaten by numb blooded birds.