I'm too much of a pollutant
for her love
Yes I'm scraping off into this recess
the residue off this past harm
it doesn't hurt, there's no blood
It's employing a sudden dusty wisdom to break down
and demand why God isn't around
to lift a ******* to the stars
I suppose doses of others' spirituality is dependent on the belief
that their god is mine
When everyone needs relief
ultimately it's a sham. But a part of me likes others to tell me what I am
-
Stone is stone
but it grows heavier if muscles waste away
It's sometimes, that fear of death catches us before old age
Drag me through the dirt, this knot around my soul
Irritate my pores with the shred of lost control
Imparted to me, is no hierachy to which
I'm bound, when I've found free ground

© Copyright David Bosworth January 2014