Depression

when roses pined
through one’s prides

reins posed

with prone sides

the posse in red knows

sin reposed
beckons id response

spores dine upon minds
I send ropes

apprised of my prison seed

 its roof-collapsed den is prose

long where the iron seeds lungs

do sloe rods seep in

folly of fools
whose resolve erodes pins 

at seer’s pond, i yet wander

watch, but one person dies
on a dulled doss repine

ever-present

with poise
’tis a lone sniper’s ode

 

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