(no subject)

[ceramiclifestyl]

I am

king of a mountain

of trash collected
rusted scraps
banged-up vocal chords
smashed violins
briar patches, coins
and neon green shoes

I have breathed like an old man when he sits in his cozy armchair and sighs a great sigh
with the setting sun still in the sky
and the dreams of the past have gone up in smoke
maybe we'll wait and fall asleep together

I wish the rain had waited until the people stopped caring
whether death had a purpose, and why we sing those old songs
drops wetting the cracked lips, of superstition, an ancient tale of faith