i could stand 'neath your shotgun nights
cringe my arms through to splinters
wake the noose, all lost in your heirs
if i'd only forget it.
it takes the breath right out of the life
to make us stand in these corners
put the fences over your eyes
keep us safe from a lover.
you raised mice in your men,
to run what is left of this labyrinth.
if there were crumbs left for us all,
they were long since devoured.
but i'll leave soft scratches
for the rest of you to find
as i find my way
free of this place.
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2 comments:
okay. why does poetry work most when it stops making sense now? my mind's ear likes this one a whole fucking ton and the rest of my brain is having a lot of fun watching. pervs. but they're cute, i swear.
they. are. so. fucking. cute.
you tickle bits of my brain that need it. it's even nicer than just knowing i'm not dead. :-)
i'm,
honest +
still,
popular
lovely always. soft scratches for itchy backs.
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