When the abyss swallows you hole,
And you find your self staring back,
At the same inky black,
That dripped and sank,
Hearts empty ever filling tank,
The apple will grab your eye,
Drag you down and die,
Inside the barren cavity between two lips,
This is the point of nourishment,
Kill to survive,
Whether through knife or meaning,
This is the heartless gleaming,
Shimmer and shine,
Of the new wave world dine,
Competition,
Had its place,
And how how you tried to save face,
In the rivers bank,
You always did love the edge,
Whether blade or ledge,
And I wonder,
What is is that we hunger,
In this life of starving,
Striving,
Fickle wishes for providing,
Resounding and residing,
So many words have an I-N-G,
Makes it easy for me,
And you to grasp this,
Vocabulary blast fist,
Thrust, a term so sexually laden,
Makes me think of a Elizabethan maiden,
All calm and a passed out from the arsenic face powder clap,
Sickly is my favorite color.
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