I’ll not think love at this age,
but I’m a hypocrite assuaged.
A liar in my dying right,
spread gasoline and then ignite
the blaze of want and desire,
watch my flames lick the fire.
But then you make a thrilling twist,
dampen the rage, remove my cysts
from my thoughts and my soul,
my former self but a ghoul.
And I can no longer see,
the blighted thoughts of younger me.
Yet at the same time, I still wonder:
Have I been ripped asunder?
My very being become otiose,
my speaking words, too verbose.
Nevertheless, I’m quite at peace,
as if I’ve become one deceased.
Dec 5, 2010
Dec 5, 2010 at 4:12 PM UTC
I’ll not think love at this age,
but I’m a hypocrite assuaged.
A liar in my dying right,
spread gasoline and then ignite
the blaze of want and desire,
watch my flames lick the fire.
But then you make a thrilling twist,
dampen the rage, remove my cysts
from my thoughts and my soul,
my former self but a ghoul.
And I can no longer see,
the blighted thoughts of younger me.
Yet at the same time, I still wonder:
Have I been ripped asunder?
My very being become otiose,
my speaking words, too verbose.
Nevertheless, I’m quite at peace,
as if I’ve become one deceased.