its a cold dead heartbeat
that I feel out here in space
like all of this is a waste
or a way into a case
I urn for a living
with hints of
in no way is it ministry
but in every way is it death
this infinite jest
"needle in the hay" plays...this is a deadly spread....hurt
asleep in a hurst.
think I'll cut my losses and hit the sands
my tired hands...blood cursed
infiite blossoms like a blue bonnet
might as well use 'em & toss em like its 2k15 in this dark verse...because it is
"When did you start thinking like a loser"
when I used her so I didnt have to work...
drank myself in a brothel made of granite
three dead fish on a doorstep- the work of hands
like some sort of omen...like some sort of planning...not rage
I guess as a planet I collect my sunlight & roll over when I can...stay out of the cage
but lately it seems Ive been floating delicatley
like the mirror is my page
the person I made has my back...
a risky wage...
unlike the snakes in this ever rising grass...common place these days.