Patrick Szwaja

broken bones, stitch by stitch

left to die, inch by inch
...

no one symbolism..
no coherent simile..
not a beautiful metaphor,
can bring you back to me.
...

three drips means the body’s bleeding

two means i’ve just begun
...

let’s make sense of the past

sipping whiskey from a glass
...

as the waves of evil

start to overcome
...

it was a simpler time, it was a better time

but it’d be better if you were still mine
...

when i wake to apocalypse

with the world crashing and burning
...

i wish to live in a room

with blank walls
...

the simple act of thought

seperates man from the beasts
...

oh bacon, speak of your ways

hiss and whisper across the pan
...

i have walked the ashes of hell

i have stood the fiery baptism
...

the world comes to a pinnacle

perceptions warps with the wind
...

a cleansing of the wicked

or damnation of the weak
...

your words trace shivers down my spine

if only they were your fingers
...

breeding violence unrevoking

embers blaze to the flames you’re stoking
...

i taste a storm on the wind

repentance for all those that sin
...

the sirens lay weeping bloody tears

from the gouged remains of their eyes
...

i feel out of place this early awake

i lose all sentiments during the day
...

is this recreation?

or pure self-destruction
...

you’d be surprised

at the peace of mind
...