Thursday, April 2, 2009

NOTAGAINAAAA.

indoors,i'm paling bonfires and verbing the nouns and
death is a metaphor.the room sighs with the afternoon
grief,the morning grief, the early summer grief saddling
nightfall. the grains in your coffeejar are a thousand
condensed nightmares imitating mine.the room sighs as

love is just a metaphor.in photographs,the eyes grow closer ,
but lighter with the loss of regard.your hands probing through
my ribs find filthy similes eating at a faint throb.the throb,
the paling bonfire, the room with no doormats, no sky,
just blood and disease- affect lunging into attempts to
hide.inside,warming up for spite, expecting
crisis in the hub,i lay out trump defenses- failing, failing,

falling.

---------------------------------------
SOMETHING after ages, and this bloody awful. i wanna shoot me.
butdoods. ive been outa touch for ages. no no shootmeanyway.

3 comments:

JD said...

Ah well, you don't leave much room to comment now, do you.

Tell me shippy, am i SUPPOSED to look at the whole thing as a giant metaphor for something? Cuz I've been trying, but in vain :(

Debs said...

I LOVE THIS!!!

bas.

The End.

C R D said...

it seemed soo dark and i loved it..

but i dunno why...period.


CRD