Bad Horse

vociferous hungering and vivid illusions,
can't feed the soul, can't delude the brain
but i'm trying,
while tired and weary, sitting by the road,
trying to fill the hole, trying to fire a spark
i wish i was dying.

Is there no hope ?

Burning flesh, and molten bone
golden like the setting sun,
solid like the mountain stone,
they excite.
A passionately performed ritual,
and the conversation residual,
as the carrion feast,
why ignite ?

All we need is dope ?

Some whispered words, with melody too
don't bring you nearer, unless sung by anew,
my love.
As i disappear into the background, 
dont get noticed by anyone around,
i see flames, games
like dancing on a stove.

I guess there is no scope.

Now return, to where it had begun,
the dark cave, my shallow grave.
Silence.
No words uttered, no swear words muttered
My lungs compressed, waiting to burst.
Violence.

Bring me some rope.