A method cuts you out?
in hunger pangs...

Lying in congealed blood.
You cannot wipe off the stigma...

You walk into a trap.
The self-search must start...

‘Twas your ghost
to secure the promise...

The pain cycle
celebrates the pitfall...

An executioner
gazes up into your eyes...

Unhinged
in final descent...

Visible
of invisible blues...

Dressed to assassinate,
not having much hope...

As it appears?
as if nothing stops you and...

Part of me? like a morpheme,
you are leaving...

Looking in your hazel
eyes, I was thinking...