Tired of trying, waiting to die
I’m sorry for being such a bore to you
But I wanted to love you more than just every other week
or two.
Waiting for words, like water, without breadth
I see no one else beside me at the alter
shaking flesh
so cold; so suffocated
escort me through purgatory
through suffocating and deception
hanging by a thread
over all the sky to a noose around this neck
why not cut me loose? Instead of lie
just let me sleep because you and I are tired
and through the rye fields in a golden ocean
I’d sweep through with some sort of polish,
falling
off a cliff and hit the rocks and all this wit--
would be swept away in blood ruby pieces
to rot under sapphire waves
and all just to drift ashore
and rest on grains and ashes
No comments:
Post a Comment