Monday, January 3, 2011


by Raederle Phoenix

One-hundred-percent dread,
Drumming to the beat of the dead,
Humming to this emotion fed,
Crumbs, the feeling in your bed,
Fluff the pillow, lay your head;

Down and feel the anticipation;
Foreboding and lack of concentration,
Holding onto a glass of fermentation,
Just to continue the path of procrastination,
Folding into a pattern of degradation.

I'm sauntering on a path of bleak mud,
I'm walking down a trail with a weak thud,
I can feel myself sinking deeper into this crud.
I'm moving around a stale expectation of;
Grooving to a silent sickly music that curdles my blood.

~Raederle Phoenix

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