deaden eyes that possibly once gleamed like the early morning sun

souled out by living a facade in the fast lane

filled with lies full of Bourbon

and false truths of ill intimacy

left as residue on wrinkled sheets

with stink of filthy, frivolous and superficial values

curling off you like smoke

sins on your flesh, you're dead to me

king of manipulation and affliction

prowling for an opportunity to devour the sweetest…

yellow crime scene tape has been placed

in a crisscross pattern across my heart

tattered and torn

furious and scorned

from old hurts and unsettled scores

even though those wounds have healed

and the scars are very noticeable

angry cynicism still secures my perimeter

like a vicious canine unit

ready to maul and apprehend

the next gun-toting manipulator

who uses riddles in the dark and an impersonal weapon

with the intention of exploiting my…

faces hardened in a dark menace

cold hard stares

unintelligible mutter through gritted teeth

trying to dissect me with surgical precision

tactical strikes of an army

disguised behind flawed manmade religion

scrutiny creases the air like shots fired

though none of the bullets specifically bore my name

the great book says, condemn me

sins on my flesh, I'm dead to them

seen as a detriment, offered up to satisfy

an insatiable appetite for the downfall…