Vacate, is the word.
Vengeance has no place so near to her.
Cannot find the comfort in this world.
Artificial tear. Vessel stabbed, next up, volunteers?
Vulnerable. Wisdom can’t adhere.
A truant finds home, and a wish to hold on but there’s a trapdoor in the sun.
As privileged as a whore.
Victims in demand for public show.
Swept out through the cracks beneath the door.
Holier than thou. How? Surrendered, executed, anyhow.
Scrawl dissolved. Cigar box on the floor.
A truant finds home, and I wish to hold on too, but saw the trapdoor in the sun.
I cannot stop the thought of running in the dark.
Coming up a which way sign.
All good truants must decide.
Oh, stripped and sold mom.
An auctioned forearm and whiskers in the sink.
Truants move on, cannot stay long.
Some die just to live…