It’s fairly comfortable from here.
There’s a place to lay my head
And rest my feet, leaden purple
And always tingling with cold.
Now I nurture it,
Like a mother toward a child –
Cloying and petulant,
It wheedles and moans,
Incorrigible. Blindly,
And against better judgement,
I sweep what little
Flaky resolve remains,
Littered
on the cool linoleum.
And even as I gag
On the thick,
Metallic bit of
Danger (muscles atrophy,
The flesh strung against bone)
Honesty is something I can
No longer afford.
Sep 24, 2012
Sep 24, 2012 at 8:56 PM UTC
It’s fairly comfortable from here.
There’s a place to lay my head
And rest my feet, leaden purple
And always tingling with cold.
Now I nurture it,
Like a mother toward a child –
Cloying and petulant,
It wheedles and moans,
Incorrigible. Blindly,
And against better judgement,
I sweep what little
Flaky resolve remains,
Littered
on the cool linoleum.
And even as I gag
On the thick,
Metallic bit of
Danger (muscles atrophy,
The flesh strung against bone)
Honesty is something I can
No longer afford.
