Inferno with no Praises
When’s your last hope to have a smoking hot body?
They no longer have a name.
They become phrases.
No foolish talk or time for a game,
Only blazes.
In this home the heat is the same.
The worker simply gazes
At the instruments regarding a claim
That memory razes.
This house is a home where hope came
And went with the fiery mazes.
The life that once was, now lame
Sees the last of hot new crazes.
There is no way to untame
The shot that grazes.
The fire is the star and fame
Shows how an eye glazes.
There’s no escaping how blisters maim.
Everything simply hazes
Over without shame.
It’s all about an inferno with no praises.
About the Creator
Skyler Saunders
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