Laced With Weeds

Iconic abnormalities

and hoping for the best,

weeds lining the streets of my head.

I don't wait.

I can't wait. 

For revolutions and evolutions,

dreamers fly tragically too high

in the sky,

while their  antonyms are fastened 

to the ground.

This is what encompasses my head.

Polluted by the formalities

of this high maintenance world,

I watch the skeptics pace the scenic routes of their self pity

They shouldn't wait,

They can't wait,

They don't wait.

For the maturation of men

because the love needed by their girlish souls,

is wanted at every moment. 

They grope glutton

and melt from their sins,

leaking through the cracks of creation's cognition. 

Steamed and iodized tears

flood my inner gates.

Freezing over, 

glazing the walls within me.

I shouldn't wait,

I can't wait, 

I don't wait.

Because time's flight plan will cease,

and the weeds that lined my streets will reach their ditch

and the haze from my thougths will fade,

while I succumb to the deepest sleep.

So full mouthed, 

and dark browed,

I jumped.