Fairytale of Eruption

by Zack Mosher, age 17, from UK

Simplified to a one-line phrase
emblematic to the raise
perceptions don't sum up the persona
especially looking back through pre-madonnaâs.
Baffling mysteries with one eye
the hill stands strong in a position to defy
looking on, degrading its sincere intent
took a day out, but still the lament
15 minutes rings in silent tones
speeding its procreation when Iâm alone
a venerable desire, but my dogma will assimilate
an eviscerate feeling as it eliminates
others with no name
shadow the sun, they retook the aim
no different in its very essence
growing like a coveted lust you're blind to its verbal deafness wondering how I escaped past years
but these words have no meaning paralyzing your fears.
Never had the insight to elaborate
the reality is painted on the feeling to exacerbate
undiscovered, no wonder a jaded lyricist
exalt the environment as I practice to be a nihilist
battle patients as they're rushed to my aide
humanists I canât figure as I propagate another grenade.
Internal moiety will explain why I continue to write
then through the incubuses that accompany my night
the day makes hate a concept you'll never reach
helping a journey of prospects to teach
subjected to the ingenuity
like its supposed to be because I'll never have the lucidity.

Somehow I crossed and never came out
won't preach as my pride remains devout
no use, the seasons it has to rain
softly trickling my eyebrow, a prelude to regain
plans wither, so flex the cerebellum
gather reinforcements, but plans die so rebel them
no secret that this melodrama
is all that I'm made of all because I retain the same karma
like a link in a chain its purpose is obvious
praying in the night, but I'm still a deist.
Driving under the influence, but I don't know anybody
passing by unnoticed because the feeling is mutual
can't stay away the pressure is habitual
patriots come and go like a junction to reality
and then they wonder why when eyes meet its still a technicality
clichŽs redirect the hatred to the answers
period of relief as I grieve another sand storm
these lines flow, less the daunting prose
but reading backwards its all in rows.