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ashby-brownPoems
In between the lines You could tell Shakespeare danced Religiously Way back when First time He Was happy was Probably when he Was dead Like the Pilgrims or Like those Ocean storms Old grave sites Inside me Old grave stones Are A' Floating And the creak of the Street with its Wheezes and its Moans Makes me breathe Deep inside Takes me faster Than it grows As of late A bed seems Useless And People continue to Act useful yet desperately Cracked Tables are Crumbling and The hearts have Gone weak Shadows are Spreading and My hands have Grown bleak Friends are now Foreign while Religion still Weeps Gods got Glasses and He smiles while Laughing Feigning: Paranoia Heart Break Misery Melancholia Desperation Writer's Block Nothingness within Nothingness Trusting No one Not even Yourself Alone in the Dark and you See Everyone's Been there All along Together yet Miles and miles Apart
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Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 5:49 PM UTC
Miles and Myles
In between the lines You could tell Shakespeare danced Religiously Way back when First time He Was happy was Probably when he Was dead Like the Pilgrims or Like those Ocean storms Old grave sites Inside me Old grave stones Are A' Floating And the creak of the Street with its Wheezes and its Moans Makes me breathe Deep inside Takes me faster Than it grows As of late A bed seems Useless And People continue to Act useful yet desperately Cracked Tables are Crumbling and The hearts have Gone weak Shadows are Spreading and My hands have Grown bleak Friends are now Foreign while Religion still Weeps Gods got Glasses and He smiles while Laughing Feigning: Paranoia Heart Break Misery Melancholia Desperation Writer's Block Nothingness within Nothingness Trusting No one Not even Yourself Alone in the Dark and you See Everyone's Been there All along Together yet Miles and miles Apart
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ashby-brown
Oct 31, 2011
Oct 31, 2011 at 5:49 PM UTC
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