No Mercy For The Wicked

Your webs are ripping me into pieces.

They are swallowing me, twisting me.

With surgical precision, you are cutting my story into scrambled thesis,

And I am yet to discover the place where my peace is.

With your claws on my waist testing me,

I let the red fog bury my reasons.

But I was once a different person –

Striking blurry truths with my honesty.

There is, however, only so much a soul can take before turning to arson.

Now I am waving my goodbyes to a far sun,

Washing my palms in liquid modesty,

Listening as they say to you:

“Never lower the bar, son.”

I guess it is true –

No mercy for the wicked, no escape for the fooled.

-JW