I turn off the phone,
throw the television set
against the wall,
a knife of the electronic
debris cuts into me,
as my cheek begins to bleed,
I scour the shelves for the
whiskey I need--
I cleanse my wound,
and douse your former future groom,
I hit play,
find a hit melody
to take me marching through the parade--
my hands feel perfectly pyro
as the match sweetly scathes,
in the morning I will wake to find peace--
for now, I'll close my lids
and
dance in my own flames.
Apr 18, 2011
Apr 18, 2011 at 9:54 AM UTC
I turn off the phone,
throw the television set
against the wall,
a knife of the electronic
debris cuts into me,
as my cheek begins to bleed,
I scour the shelves for the
whiskey I need--
I cleanse my wound,
and douse your former future groom,
I hit play,
find a hit melody
to take me marching through the parade--
my hands feel perfectly pyro
as the match sweetly scathes,
in the morning I will wake to find peace--
for now, I'll close my lids
and
dance in my own flames.
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