Monday, September 12, 2011

Blanketed With A Blasé Hellion

my pants are warm cause they just got ironed
it feels like that missing fake empty happy
that i was always fond of
we wanted everything perfect, set it all up
took a deep breath in and our bodies exploded
numb from the people who brandished our aches
when we were away there was nothing at stake
and i wish it was winter, when our cravings were thinner
we survived off the drink, just took the liquor
but we meandered our better judgements and it ended up all over
on the streets, out to eat, alone in our house
but we maintained a distance, afraid it'd all bring us south
and it was kept simple, we died with routine as our only staple
truth is though i yearn for the miscues, it was what it had to do
more so though i crave for the slow heartbeats and flinching legs
never believing we'd have to leave bed, with our enemy at reach
we'd always be beat

1 comment:

  1. winter brings us south, or at least just the birds


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