these are the sleeping roses that dream of thorns and candy
a plume of ludicrous rubes ramping up the drivel
a shanty town that shan't not blot out the sun with it's moon
but rather a rambling brook of gorgeous boredom
swimming upstream to get down there....
please go...you might arrive before you leave.
even so, this is a private conversation that must be broadcast
as lavishly as night blossoms
this is the dead space, shuffling down the alley ~
seeking brackish wisdom and polished dust
these are the genuine barnacles of faith; clinging to the hull of a derelict
an underground stream of punctual devastation
a zero, dividing without regard ~
these are the chilling suns, slathered in ice and muslin
a false door to a fiction
wretched with beauty and comely coronas
Thorns and Candy.
Oct 25, 2012
Oct 25, 2012 at 12:02 PM UTC
these are the sleeping roses that dream of thorns and candy
a plume of ludicrous rubes ramping up the drivel
a shanty town that shan't not blot out the sun with it's moon
but rather a rambling brook of gorgeous boredom
swimming upstream to get down there....
please go...you might arrive before you leave.
even so, this is a private conversation that must be broadcast
as lavishly as night blossoms
this is the dead space, shuffling down the alley ~
seeking brackish wisdom and polished dust
these are the genuine barnacles of faith; clinging to the hull of a derelict
an underground stream of punctual devastation
a zero, dividing without regard ~
these are the chilling suns, slathered in ice and muslin
a false door to a fiction
wretched with beauty and comely coronas
Thorns and Candy.
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