Spiteful
Is the weary soul
Of this lonesome creature.
Devilish
And full of conflict.
Broken and tired
Of this misguiding
Path of impotence.
A story of chaos seems to reign.
Yet, fortunately I care not
Of this life, nor the makings of it.
I only wish to linger
In the grips of insanity,
For as long as hands of god
Allows one to subside in it.
But, in disparity is not how I wish to be seen.
For I am simply
Lost to a frantic state of honesty.
And to the fragileness
Of my own self proclaimed
Agonizing heart.
~ Tony Paradise’s Poet ~
