The Call Of Cannons

Rotten flesh hangs From my breath.. Here I am, straining, Against inner death. Being torn Between two polar points Of dispair or hope.. Not even the mounds of dope Can cover my anger In my fitfull rage.. Not looking at the pages On the wall.. Watch while I decide Whether or not to fall. I hear the whistling call, Of the cannons, Blowing across the bow. What the hell do they want Now? I wish to mold Myself, to myself. But eager is everyone To change everything About me, and what I see.. The administration Doesn't understand.. The pedals of love For them, are rotting, Falling, over wilted Brown grass. The mass Of conformity Rages forth For me. It wont matter, Cut and slice, I will pay The price. I'll roll the dice Once more, forgeting Their pathetic lore. For all they are To me is just a bore. It infuriates me To the core.. Here I wait, standing, At the door, Locked, the guards Laughing. Watch.. as I knock The door down, And their smiles Turn to frowns. Watch.. as I reclaim My crown.