Scriptures
Words are ammo my throat is the weapon, verbal attacks under god against them. Yes don’t you know I’ve been coughing up lounges till more than words take off from tounge, A war that’s brewed since I was still young, and come with armies take on this one, cause I won’t stop until I’ve won. Stuck on couches no more, not bolted to a floor, hurricanes hail won’t keep me indoors, or from the shore, stuck out in an ocean floating on a board, remnants of a ship, tidal waves still hit, close an open cut with nothing but a stitch, song of sirens densly pitched, sharks stay baiting, but the bites just a pinch, enough to make me flinch, headed up north parallel to a finch, does it make you cringe, like falling in a binge, waking up to a fire so droplets can singe, warming up to a grin, & her wakin next to him, but him’s me drownin in gin, to chances bein slim, but motion is a lover waiting to begin, though being circled by a couple dorsal fins. Timelines scroll on, life is writing a dear scripture, did I paint a coloured picture unlike the story Giver, and watch the evil sliver, away from their dinner, holy poison deeps their liver, and a serpant withers thinner, demons then grow dimmer, now just drink from the river, negative shall hinder, in a race there’s no winner,
