© May 1, 2018. All Rights Reserved.
Dear God,
The masses practice the unpromising,
Running me inside-out of my dead mind
This town is infested with worshipping
Satan. I might as well be utterly blind.
The most I need isn’t natural greed.
Red apples are bitten before I bite
So there’s readiness to drink full-speed.
My thirst ages when tears disappear
From my demitasse of impurity.
The dearth of change is in the hemisphere.
My letters burn; “Dear Beloved,” I wrote,
Then I hear a bell falling down the stairs,
But what’s in the basement is a banknote.
The door locks once like my morning prayers,
But there’s a spirit inside of the vent.
The lights turn on and someone is praying.
She prays, but her saintly voice leads no hint,
Unfound like where’s my huge likeliness to die.
The voice comes closer as the door unlocks,
But the steps fall from top to bottom. Bye-bye!
Sincerely,
A Dead Man
Isaiah Lawrence 