Driven Down, by Ben Ramlackhan

Here I am again, on the road with my hate,

Ready to destroy, ready to disintegrate the life of anyone who dares cross me across the street,

Vitriolic, and hypnotized by the gentle hum of the quiet night air acoustics,

Low, but amplified by the internal screaming that I lack the bark to replicate,

Searching for clarity, and finding sirens; smoke and firemen, red and blue,

Rushing to the scene of their next good deed,

Wrapped in ashes more physical than mine, all to drown at the same apothecary,

Above the age and under the influence,

Always.

Here it is, dwelling in my pain,

Suffering and seething the blood of my intentionally poor choices,

Shooting the whiskey that poisons my father’s veins,

And his father’s veins,

Bathing in Rage that I have with the former,

That I have in common with him.

That leeches off of the root:

the stage upon which the brain is captivated in its chaotic constructions,

It halts the soul’s connection with the warm world,

And picks up the glass thus tearing through the strings of the heart,

Stopping the slow, heavy symphony of bass guitars that animate my misfortune,

To my temporary end.

-Ben Ramlackhan

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