Demons crawl
up and surface
to spit all black
ill of a purpose.

Heard a tounge,
it swelled taste.
It turned bland
all that sustains.

No feeling wind
no trumpet plays
inside your ear
for you this day.

March you to a
beat your chest
pounds quickly
in life’s distress.

Drill in deeply I
search I explore
the halls a mind
a disdain is born.

Suffer the arrow
aimed at a heart
from dark earth
spun tears apart.

No need add it,
a bruising chide,
for this life black
birthing a strife.

©jwinchester

---

To set the mood I present you a little Chevelle 🤘