Attica

Attica
By Johnny-Ray

My Baron is late
These walls are full of speaking words
That mold the surface.
My halt is in a haste,
To clean your conscious waste
And rid me of distaste
I am trapped in your gazes
Among the collared suitors, I am displaced.
I’m sipping on what’s left
That the hazards left to sit
Bending back just to behold
Those walking as opposites
You spayed the truth
And attempted a succor
In a salt scarlet envelope
And you welded your blames
To trap me inside
Rattling death echoes this tunnel
While the chill turned me cold
The eerie dripping
My fingers slipping
I will always hold a cavity in your karma
I’ll be a ghost when your habit wears backward