I stub out poetry like smokes in my overflowing ash trays
they flickered across my mind and were gone in a instant
self-combustible nonsense I read in a magazine when I was ten
years old and jaded before I hit eleven I gave up on love and
poetical existence disappeared down the plughole while I was
washing off the grime of others ideas of who I should be.
Aug 10, 2015
Aug 10, 2015 at 7:32 AM UTC
I stub out poetry like smokes in my overflowing ash trays
they flickered across my mind and were gone in a instant
self-combustible nonsense I read in a magazine when I was ten
years old and jaded before I hit eleven I gave up on love and
poetical existence disappeared down the plughole while I was
washing off the grime of others ideas of who I should be.