.
this apathy grinds my bones...
half-turn words and somehow caught
encience and eyes-closed-shut.
pitter.patter.window.tear.drop.bleak
; haunted anesthesia
(fingers snap closed)
and somehow this brittle light of dawn
won't awake.
"god-dammit" he would say
"make it or make catastrophe syllables"
and I'd...
I'd look through his eyes
were I to find grindmetalfucking-screechbiteTHIS
I'd compose.
Again.
And whatever fucking fucking fuck
god-dammit, I'd write what he told me, and never look
back.
© 2008 Guillotine
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Printed from www.DarkPoetry.com/dp/11958/109701 on Sunday September 07th, 2008 02:23 AM
Certain elements © 1996-2008 Matthew Steven (matts.org)
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