The ghost inside the cradle
haunts me with the hollows
Who was I but an accident that evolved
A fool with expectations
a style out of rhythm with posh fucking world
A ghost baby in the cradle
The apparition of a son of a daughter
A nonfather
Ridiculous searching for his youth
epic cliche squeezing cheap mayonnaise
from a recyclable refill
whitening the road tar
The hypocrisy inside me
is animal of ferocious claims
Goodness I feign
just to get a piece of my own way
I am the apparition behind the dying fruit tree
I am the false grin to pretend feelings are fine
I am polluted with my own sense of oblivion
Besmirched by a thousand failed attempts
each attempt a disease acting slowly on the metabolism
swimming in the poor notions or shards of half truths
Slowly it all dilutes into ruthless restlessness
The crib is empty I seem faithless
It's undone and it's not her fault
It's mine for I didn't give enough of myself
So I heal in the shadow of the mountain
In God's little blindspot- I still feel the need to worship
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