its been raining for a score of minutes non-stop,
my foot tapping holes in the floor,
I've failed to find my reflections in any of the sky's teary drops,
my grail carries the backwash of concise whores,
i desire not to reflect on this,
no one gives into misdirection,
ill salt the earth with my wit,
impregnate it and desert it after she realizes conception,
the sorrowful simulation sits and stares at the illumination,
writes down its feelings in a white box ; rhyming ,
and expects to feel unashamed of deviant consummation,
ill drink to death,ill drink to sin,ill drink to things thought wrong,
touche' without my savoir-faire of these things i wouldn't have lasted this long...
No comments:
Post a Comment