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.