Fog In The Stage Poem by Jacob Underwood

I simmer my lashes away while I sleep in a lair of poppyseed
Venoms wrapped around my neck
Now only I'll aspirations of gasping on the barbed vine I'll grow
With the ghost of floral scent
Just to be woken up by another groggy balefully stale day

To lack a collar or lead
Blink days In and days out but still no wings have grown as I slowly peck
And time continues to slow
But it never fully stops humming like a broken withered out vent
Mists Leaving my thoughts to stray

Not eating can't catch a blink of thought maybe I'll improve and succeed
Fine as long as you don't check
My tired face and my limbs nowadays looking more like lifeless slow dough
In my words worth not a cent
My Every word in an old dance performing like dried out useless clay

Instead my tongue will retreat
I'm only cracked porcelain And I know I can promise I'm not a wreck
Always backstage in the show
Clanking away at my cracks with the hands on my back forever bent
So sleep in a homestay