"I cant think." Written by Adam Guerra

I cant think.

Words sound like burning houses and footsteps that crackle on twigs in a forest fire.

Like piano trickle touch from numb hands to deaf ears.

And this shaky persona of what is called truth, turns to iv needles , heart beats per minute, like slow waltz dances of death, which is with in our words that speak like silver plated gun shot 45 caliber rounds, like children playthings. So we wait our turn.

The reaper of life is an abrupt period on the end of a beautiful sentence.

A deceitful puzzle, chiseling away at your back bone memory, like tattered rags to cover your bruised
egotistical metaphors, caught up like hammering key strokes with in the hands of time, focusing on the corrective momentum that keeps you sane, for one more day.

I cant think.

Words sound like choking minutes on the metronome scaling like dragon serpent tongue.

Like broken ladder steps from soaring minds and mute voices.

And as this tremble quake like shivering shakes, we turn our heads to complete the choices
we make from past mistakes, of a higher idea, that leaves
no room for the creations of what
was laid like lacerations of a younger year , stuttering like giving more fear towards the influential
steps leading to what we know as here,

the present day murder of martyrs ,

the still birth giver of first starters, a concubine of
abortion divine ,

a truth well stricken but not enough to be well given a proper burial ground, so we pray....

Words sound like soft dog whimpers and the bottom of a Jack Daniels bottle.

Hollow misused instruments of death swallow.

And as this humming tune comes to an end, the heart beats per minute, with the wound that never mends, molded like silly putty to the mind of a local nobody,

We leave like the piss stained back alleys that we are.

I cant think.

Written by Adam Guerra

Posted 09/03/12