A bad joke without lines
Punch the air, hands collapse in desperate coma
My eyes pinpoint out the illusion, a bad dream these ties
A stale and ugly kiss
Handsome ridges melt away the layers of waste, think prodding savior eating away at raw nerve flesh
...
Self-medicating ghost of times past forgotten
There is no dark pride in loneliness
Escape those thick heads, denounce those addictions and memory fade
What?s your pleasure, pistol or syringe?
...Watch those memories
Or drop dead
Thursday, April 5, 2007
missing person
el e ochiul viu care se mişcă şi vede albul fără iris nu am văzut feţe doar nişte mâini care trăgeau de el un schelet care dansa, o inimă care se auzea bătând sub apă
1 comment:
happy birthday pe 2 mai, sa nu uit : ))
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