It hurts like a butter knife,
carving into my soul, my being.
It aches as though all of the worlds pain-
is on my shoulders.
It stings as though toxic waste-
has been poured into mine eyes.
It shivers as though little spider-
crawls up my spine.
It chokes me,
No need for the Heimlich maneuver.
It serenades me,
With a song of agony.
It whispers to my ears,
only words of spite.
Creativity is a must,
If you tend to dance in the dust.
Sep 28, 2010
Sep 28, 2010 at 6:00 PM UTC
It hurts like a butter knife,
carving into my soul, my being.
It aches as though all of the worlds pain-
is on my shoulders.
It stings as though toxic waste-
has been poured into mine eyes.
It shivers as though little spider-
crawls up my spine.
It chokes me,
No need for the Heimlich maneuver.
It serenades me,
With a song of agony.
It whispers to my ears,
only words of spite.
Creativity is a must,
If you tend to dance in the dust.
who knows.
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