What Keeps Frosting Company Alive

When the shadows sprinkle

The concrete as the passer

Trudge to the end.

The X marks

the lost of,

person and rationality.

The silent whimper

Only to be heard,

by the owner of the tear.

Cringing stares,

By 3am terrors.

As a pillow lie restless.

Bloodshot walls

With a crack

In a centimeter heart

The body use to lurk

And endeavor itself,

With other’s love, hatred, peace and sex.

A senseless tool

Became wicked.

As a hologram,

Of shadows,

Sprinkled. On your lack lust of a soul.