The faint taste of oranges whisper-hushes its way into conversations; I fail to realize the problems with this. Forgive the weakness of my concentration.
You. You are always there. You have a trip-wire tongue and will never kiss me. I've tried to save you many times; rarely am I successful.
The melting kelly green of hyper grass that grows only where I cannot imagine concrete.
A tall, elderly man who is my grandfather, but is nameless and so frighteningly vague.
The empty sense of nobility in self-destruction drapes itself around my shoulders.
Falling for dangerous lengths of time is typical.
Tears. Genuine tears without hyperventilation; just loss. Always loss.
And that ironic waking satisfaction.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment