Do not think, for the mind is careless;
thoughtlessly inflicting drugged streams
of half consciousness. memories
on the carousel, wheeling rainy dreams.
Lose all touch with sanity,
there's no love for you,
Roaches fancy a flesh of vanity,
but scorpions ****** dry the blood.
She is perfect just the way she is,
but I will never be.
She has birthed a baby, his
green eyed, sweet chinned little girl.
You could say, Mind, do not be this way,
but you can not stop those thoughts-
Your own womb is barren and grey,
a weeded, thorny, fruitless void.
Sep 25, 2014
Sep 25, 2014 at 1:59 PM UTC
Do not think, for the mind is careless;
thoughtlessly inflicting drugged streams
of half consciousness. memories
on the carousel, wheeling rainy dreams.
Lose all touch with sanity,
there's no love for you,
Roaches fancy a flesh of vanity,
but scorpions ****** dry the blood.
She is perfect just the way she is,
but I will never be.
She has birthed a baby, his
green eyed, sweet chinned little girl.
You could say, Mind, do not be this way,
but you can not stop those thoughts-
Your own womb is barren and grey,
a weeded, thorny, fruitless void.
