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 🤘