A Desperate Cry For Help

The smog of my breathing flows freely through my veins
It brings with it, the release of all strains
My eyes glisten as my pupils expand
A quiver of satisfaction as I raise my hand
And softly inhale.

I dream of the sound of alcohol, poured into a glass
Joyfully sipping my youth away
I am merely your vessel, that went astray
My fingers tremble as I uncork the bottle
There is but one direction and I approach it full throttle
The iron curtain that separates the living from the dead
Easily breached with a mere gram of lead

I am tormented by the things I’ve done
Robbery, arson, berobbed a father of his son
But, when I get ahold of you, it still feels like I’ve won
Nothing else matters, no, you are the one
But, I can’t figure out, why I am at this temple with my gun
I stare blindly into his eyes, and gently whisper: “Run”
When all is said and done, I have spared no one
A lost soul, alone under the sun

©Alexander Berg Mattsson, 2012


10 thoughts on “A Desperate Cry For Help

  1. Pete Armetta says:

    Very honest and direct, vivid writing here, and I relate to so much of it. Well done, this is a real keeper this piece. 🙂 Love the visual too, sets the right tone for sure.


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