Lemon drops in a sizzling cauldron of cough syrup

Nasal decongestants poured over a hot sundae of lopsided daisy-chains

Cracked pepper looming on the horizon mistaken for a murder of crows

We will never know which substance caused the sparkling morning dew to look the way it did that morning

All we know is: the dime bags are all empty now

This flowery cascade of other-worldly disintegration will soon be civilized arithmetic

I see through the lens of a brooding corridor decorated for psychedelic Christmas

Wax towers rooted in regret reach for the stars

Their pale exuberance bulging out from nothingness with such a tainted glow

This engine churns soot and muck

Back-breaking, war-torn nihilism coils into an unbreakable loop at the base of your spine

Lollygagging into the fray, deeper into the roots of the forgotten garden where the innocence used to sunbathe under a once-friendly sky

Oh how the weeds do grow when the gardener is drunk

His wandering gaze falling upon the distant mountains

Their snowy caps resembling the pointed teeth of his neglect

Piercing the twilight dawn with his dreams of far-off realms

If he ever makes it that far he will leave behind a jungle of weeds

An untended field of crops makes for a wretched harvest

Only the souls that grow are plucked

And where they end up

We may never know