Lion in the grass.
The smell of fear as he is on the prow…
I must confess that it’s time to face my inner demons.
Free them as my art comes to existence.
Past visions tangled up within a bed of roses.
A confession that it’s time to face inner demons.
Relinquish this relentless force that’s chained.
Weaponizing a form of greatness that can’t be tamed.
Lion in the grass.
The thirst is becoming something that can no longer be bared…
Like a vampire’s firsthand scent of new blood;
may not be able to hold back.
Hesistent with a premeditated intent,
A fury has finally been released.
The victim are these words, I can finally rest in peace.
Lion in the grass.
Resting with the snakes…
Gazing at the stars, envisioning a place next to the big dipper.
The jungle is quiet, enough time daydreaming.
Eyes closed, contemplating maniacal cravings.
Lion of the Jungle.
