We tire so easy, no rhyme no rhythm, only some prose - total surrender makes us perspire, little beads making way for the floor; or damp armpits.
Who's got the stash, you ask. They said they wanted to walk. Clamber down the stairs, restless, almost panicking. Walk along the asphalt, yellow lights a slow blink above.
Where did everyone disappear, I wondered. They were in a song, their voices in sync.
What happened, I wondered. They were all singularly strange, often the misfits.
Loopy, with messy hair, incoherent, mute.
I think I might leave an imprint.
How do you deal with boredom & lose the stony eye?
Who's got the stash, you ask. They said they wanted to walk. Clamber down the stairs, restless, almost panicking. Walk along the asphalt, yellow lights a slow blink above.
Where did everyone disappear, I wondered. They were in a song, their voices in sync.
What happened, I wondered. They were all singularly strange, often the misfits.
Loopy, with messy hair, incoherent, mute.
I think I might leave an imprint.
How do you deal with boredom & lose the stony eye?
1 comment:
I wish I had an answer for you.
Post a Comment