[[there's only one thing left to do.]]
there are a million anonymous stories in my head. and sometimes i re-read them and i wonder if, maybe, it was you who wrote them for me. sometimes even though i know my feet will fall asleep i still sit on them wrong. sometimes i turn the computer screen off so i can see my reflection at four in the morning. sometimes i feel bad for keeping franz
( Read more... )
Reply
Reply
Reply
Somber mornings still prove seridipitous
I believe in a shirt gliding
Sudden convultions turn blue instantly
And the rain falls again
This time covering our
Starved bodies with mist
Diffuseing the sweat we share
2 days history and my taste buds percist
scrape my roof - it leaks
despite this, it is a home
now a broken home with carpet creeping
up the walls
and my tougue dispises this fuzz
yearns for the smooth of a bullet
2 squinting eyes massage the pillow
deep into the false wood paneling
my hip waxes and wanes
to the movement of her crys
the sun weeps along with us
and sinks itself into a cloud
so the day goes
don’t.
Reply
Somber mornings still prove seridipitous
I believe in a shirt gliding
Sudden convultions turn blue instantly
And the rain falls again
This time covering our
Starved bodies with mist
Diffuseing the sweat we share
2 days history and my taste buds percist
scrape my roof - it leaks
despite this, it is a home
now a broken home with carpet creeping
up the walls
and my tougue dispises this fuzz
yearns for the smooth of a bullet
2 squinting eyes massage the pillow
deep into the false wood paneling
my hip waxes and wanes
to the movement of her crys
the sun weeps along with us
and sinks itself into a cloud
so the day goes
don’t.
Reply
Leave a comment