Mark Ryan, gaaahhh!
Bullets peel away my flesh, as the city sleeps.
It crumbles into the night.
Slinking into tomorrow link a panther into the jungle.
You don’t run my town.
You won’t own my crown.
The drums of war sound and the concrete cracks.
Awakening once more to a new day of havoc.
Racing rats and such noise in my skull.
The fingers tap itching by the triggers.
Awash with opinions, thrown like rocks.
Flowers grow where old giants fell.
Mighty names and egos that towered into the sky.
You throw such money around.
Yet you walk sideways.
Poised with perfection, like a clown who has mastered tears.
Retreat. I retreat into the place where I was born.
To a land where the trees breathe my name.
I hear the bullets fly in the distance, yet they cannot reach me here.
They do not know this place.
Or that it’s…
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