Overton Trees

The scent of oak breathes death into me. but filters out through the hole in my soul. bury me in autumn leaves. my god had left me, or so it seems. barren oak and silent soil, blackened withering artistic toil. enveloped in my drowning narcissism. the winter's breath just behind me. the evening's low-lying fog. the amber shroud of overton. sovereign sorrow. desperation leaks from this pen. held dear to its warm hand. the air is burnt and sundown is a breath behind. early. to be forever ensnared in the cold. folly and dread. with my hatred for life and the fear of the noose. it weighs heavily on my head. overton trees. whispering introit. sharpens the pendulum with every swing. a lachrymose line at the brushes tip. it carried me away. blurry gray vision. press your damnation in me. singed smell of october. in a world full of deceivers. lying. bringing in the sheaves. a sermon with an invective tongue. hallow otiose intent. i'm the ghost of a man. i am undead. victimized to repetition. crucified to the past. let every breath be my last. an abode of an ossuary