The Prophet

With a little less love
we can be so god damn unkind
the delusions not far from the truth
fear and loathing of the body and the mind
tired and sick of treading water
positivity seems so far behind
an unaccounted intermission of another
childish games where the blind lead the blind

Peel my flesh to the bone
count the years on my sores
don’t know where I call home
but the meaning is lost again

Too much poison in the blood
lacquer heads don’t see past the dotted line
only one left to compliment the other
she’s a queen but the dreams not mine
complications in the feverfew
an emotion that’s void of a warning sign
an accounted intermission of a lover
childish games you can lead if you like

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