the tower

the mark of the monster
just might be the color
in the antiquated world
forcing you to squeeze the very lemonade
that (poisoned) you sip
we’ll make a day of it
(he said)
an old-fashioned family gathering
(until I slip some arsenic in these printed glasses)
running far on a borrowed motorcycle
seems the better plan
(he’ll find you
sweet, pale, innocent one)
best have hidden together
the dreams that are promised
(false though they may be)
far outweigh each brick
the stone tower constructs
around you