Tuesday, 3 November 2015

Done Like Crocodiles

Nature zig-zag pattern routines
Every tree has an identity
Ever leaf a thumbprint
Damned are those, dead on the ground
Brown and scrunched 
Ready for the marching offence
Of ordinary soles
Those who stroll through the park
With their souls on a leash 

Death is way scarier inside success
Hoping for nothing, so nothing you get
The more you have, the more you will give
So spend it now or soon are the days
Are those, of your weeping, inside the coffin
Under the ground, where we stomp on you
You will never know, what even was money 

Forlorn are the faces of decaying men
Not ready yet to take their departure
Into the sink pour mugs of coffee
To drain the stench with fresh caffeine 
Self-made suffering
“A millionaire gone mad”
The front page of your diary
A millionaire is mad always
“Am I not the best friend you've ever made?”

Closets of crocodile leather
Feel their resistance, still
When you exploit of their deaths
Your fashion statement 
Fringes of insanity
Rebelling morals to be the models
Of high indoctrination  
Close the curtains
Your casting is over and so is your youth 
They will throw you into the garbage can
Like they did with the bodies
Of skinless animals, or those that were
Skinned of their fur