482 – Meat clock

A song of freedom,
And a little madness,
Bursting out the confines
Of a rusting rib cage.

Hi-octane bourbon
Spiked with dark Cohiba
Powering white lightning
Running thru raw nerves.

A simple bag of flesh
Holding blood and guts.
Never far from death,
Never close to dying.

Muscle covered bones,
Riding on a horse
Of liquid steel
And solid darkness.

A body electric,
Sparking, shifting, flying,
A fireball of dreams,
A stubborn dancer.

No tears shall be spared,
No fears left standing.
Just a steady pace,
Running into death’s face…

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