What a pretty portrait to paint on a Sunday.
Wine red in artery lines.
Wipe it clean over the canvas.
Achieving the dismal.
Resurrect in a week’s middle to end.
Axe’s grind requires a feast.
Feed the engine the entrails of dreams forgotten,
dismantled surgically in the realism lens.
Congratulations on nothing!
Accomplished the dismal.
Reborn in ash but choking on the remnants.
Phoenix fire remedy a death march melody.
It all is DISMAL.
Recalibrated to perform the ritual.
Liquor up the boys to subdue the round’s impact.
Cubicle coffins wrapped in bows,
tied over in suits and white fence security.
Wine red to whine about in desires for an end’s dead end.
How very DISMAL to say!
DISMAL TO SAY.
( ❤ Mitch)