my cat knows something
when she stares at the white wall
moving her head right and left
where there is nothing at all
(for me)
May 5, 2014
May 5, 2014 at 2:11 AM UTC
skyscrapers touch with their narcissistic needles
the fake, pale american sky
they stab him with their sharp needles
and the sky begins to cry
and we call those teardrops "rain"
we call the teardrops "rain"
we call them "rain"
oh liquid moment
oh vain metropolis out of hope
oh slippery, slippery slope
baptise me again
into your soft oblivion
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 8:41 PM UTC