it's not you, it's me
a column of fire, a gust of wind and a thunderous voice:
"SUCK MY DICK BITCH"
chivalry is dead i suppose, the rain begins without notice and then overstays its welcome.
cursing, weeping and brooding. then comes weariness; it is hard to shake fists at the heavens under water.
tread these murky depths, for what, shores? who says there are shores? i used to be able to, but no longer can i distinguish the prophet from the fool. or tell the poet from the prostitute.
perhaps my eyesight has become poor.
perhaps they have become one and the same.
"SUCK MY DICK BITCH"
chivalry is dead i suppose, the rain begins without notice and then overstays its welcome.
cursing, weeping and brooding. then comes weariness; it is hard to shake fists at the heavens under water.
tread these murky depths, for what, shores? who says there are shores? i used to be able to, but no longer can i distinguish the prophet from the fool. or tell the poet from the prostitute.
perhaps my eyesight has become poor.
perhaps they have become one and the same.