Another brutal mistake,

cover remains with muddy dirt to possibly escape,

color mine soul in another storming: grey;

Weren't meant to be this kind of outcome,

wasn't supposed to end in raveled crumbs,

did what hands could do in bearing weight inherited in deafening: strums;

Could've serenaded casual warning at that self-fragile child.... I once stood,

just of even small amounts needn't be built upon preemptive shoulders –

essentially become heaps of deadwood;

muscles swell harder – day after day – resemblance of those unbridled boulders,

unravel stifling depraved tints.... fledgling eyes best never had understood,

rising vigorous as deterrent impact twists colder.