Monday, January 10, 2011



Sorry, I guess.


chill to my bones
lie to me, you arsehole
feel me with your hands
see me in the sand
storming out of the dream
you wish to hold within
but i insist on you being
least worthy of my living
more than a quarter
of my daily life suffered
an untraceable
the silence silenced still
the noise troubles at will
i need the feel of being alone
i feel the need of being a stone
i am more than a rock
i am the place you locked
the growing tree
you insist on having it killed

Stand up now child
your jungle is a crime

No comments:

Post a Comment