a voice that is husky from all of the screams in the bathwater.
a husk born emptied of fluid of core of sperm of soul.
a soil less fragrant for the colorless and infertile dreams dyed in it.
is it grown up or groan up?
given up giving up to the downcast lid sky?
(no you haven't)
i am here
waiting
a pretend dead man in a pretend dead world.
longing for the real dead die done.
if a part of me lives still,
like a worm peeking hesitantly out and up
kill it please.
No comments:
Post a Comment