This bleak existence
reeks
of cisterns,
it peeks it's leaky head
above the gutters.
Shuttered **** tight.
Death is the meaning of life.
Sylvia knew it best,
resting under home,
bone heavy
and sleepless.
That jar of hers;
irksome,
thirsts on monochrome
bleakness;
needless, overblown nerves.
Smash it!
Crush it!
Whack it!
Mush it!
Classic glassy mess.
Break it!
Fix it.
Tape it.
Place it.
Back now on your head.
Dec 6, 2016
Dec 6, 2016 at 5:37 PM UTC
This bleak existence
reeks
of cisterns,
it peeks it's leaky head
above the gutters.
Shuttered **** tight.
Death is the meaning of life.
Sylvia knew it best,
resting under home,
bone heavy
and sleepless.
That jar of hers;
irksome,
thirsts on monochrome
bleakness;
needless, overblown nerves.
Smash it!
Crush it!
Whack it!
Mush it!
Classic glassy mess.
Break it!
Fix it.
Tape it.
Place it.
Back now on your head.
