Bad blood.
Yes, that's the substance
That appears to be touring amongst us
Stains of a silent vendetta
Howling against my cranium
Classically, such a rhythm dances
With a carelessly, continuous tune
Am I but an indefinite design
In this fearsome game?
Sep 14, 2013
Sep 14, 2013 at 6:56 AM UTC
Bad blood.
Yes, that's the substance
That appears to be touring amongst us
Stains of a silent vendetta
Howling against my cranium
Classically, such a rhythm dances
With a carelessly, continuous tune
Am I but an indefinite design
In this fearsome game?
This poem is about the strangely feeling of alienation that raises its head if ever a time occurs that I'll be in the same room with family.
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