Tuesday, November 17, 2009

I don't give a fuck what you think.
I'm going to greet the morning
Punching the hell out of the sky.
In a haze of marajuana and old rusty needles
With the light dripping down
Like slow loss.
And her alabaster skin will kiss my
Bloodshot eyes.
Her, the choosen one,
The one to bring the news that he's gone.
I will die here
Under the weight of her heaviness
Her eyes that know all,
Bleeding for the sins of those without remorse.
My lips holy, like God.
My tongue an instrument for Jehova
So smile or smite them then, Oh great one.
I am done.

No comments: