Black trees. The night air fogs your vision.
Similar nights like this brought to the present by a reoccurring dream
the presence of my emptiness encompasses my yearning.
Sickened by a lingering truth: so far away, so little to do with me
I can drive this stake through the heart of my serenity
refuse the ballroom steps which perfectly piece this puzzle
stiffen my back and pretend I am better than the slum i have become.
but who's to say I am not. In another time, in another world I could've made this work
No comments:
Post a Comment