A Grip On Threads

I saw the ugly head of reality
today-
it didn't look too good to me,
a shocking sight
burrowed beneath the skin
ripping through the soul
right at the heart of it all;
A face unrecognizable
don't they see it now
one borrowed by a madman,
how is self lost.....
and again, never found.
To have a heart
stave it from a foul
love was meant to be surrounding
but it carried off
with the mass of a noisy crowd,
tension fingers, boiling blood
what good are you fair world
with a limited sky above.
To trap a mind in crazy
talking walls never good listeners
when cemented solid ears
flutter through a life,
I can't turn my face
to face
loneliness of nights;
Do I,
think of ways......
to preserve the very thoughts of me
therefore so your memory
is of that a competent,
confidently good man
untarnished by the dark
and societie's ugliness
that continues it's
pirahna like attack
beckoning for the blood
to be freely given
in an inevitable end to a losing battle.
Many eyes may glance a page
some will burn over the words
as do some ignore
regrettable feelings
and their owners in slow fade,
I love you all!
But iam ugliness head.