A fraction of self fractured by neglect
The realist thing I've ever said.
On the carpet of my soul is a stain
I watch this quern grinding my moods grain
into morbid bite-sized bitter drops
I pop them in
A sin against self
This curse
once paltry to the milky of my ways
has my earth flat in the advanced curvature of mirthful days
These arms are open
Why?
[retort here]
"Dreams and belief have gone,
Time, life itself goes on"
-Half Day Closing
No comments:
Post a Comment