The sound of a sigh
like whispers from giants
and a gang of coy gallants
still kicking my ass.
Life, in a whiff all ripped from a mirror.
My life in a whiff, oxygen escapes my breath
In a sniff, the stale stench of death
And how it tastes when it trickles down your throat.
Time spent, not wasted
(maybe)
We've been keeping busy
Arranging sounds where we deem necessary
And for all my lies, she thinks I'm still very loveable.
No comments:
Post a Comment