RMC

Black is the rich flick it,
the cig in your hand I stand
enough the rough up fit
do the soft crisp words man.

I hear in my head fed by
dry dread in my ear I try
to keep my feet straight,
belated and ill fated wry.

I see no color it’s flutter
in this piss I feel a shudder.
In the night the cold grabs,
Lord I’ve never loved my mother.

I feel the wind rip at skin
sin has grasped me again.
I won’t tell the one who did
a bid with the devil’s kin.

It was a death I fell I try
to keep myself up to try
not to keep my head down
and feel cold bite make me cry.

I will take this pill with thrill,
not kill be but be real,
about what I think how I feel,
I’ll keep my hope with little skill.

A rose to you if you want demons,
they stay with me and aren’t even,
I was just minding my mind.
I wasn’t looking but now I see them.