I thought the trash bag was a bunny
will I live long enough
intense love cannot merely be painted over with a crisp new brush
the grass under my feet sinks like a freshly dug grave
thoughts of predictability more overwhelming day after day
knowing the system and the routine
sinking though my grave to the cavern below
I find a sense of comfort in my own abyss of black thoughts
have I wandered so far down that I am now lost
to what it means to be my scarecrow
my mind drifts once more to the trash bag bunny
I wish to die where the Autumn leaves place their crown atop my head
in the hidden wood, far below the cavern where all is enveloped
filled with trash bag bunnies and no more worries
Mar 2, 2013
Mar 2, 2013 at 8:59 PM UTC
I thought the trash bag was a bunny
will I live long enough
intense love cannot merely be painted over with a crisp new brush
the grass under my feet sinks like a freshly dug grave
thoughts of predictability more overwhelming day after day
knowing the system and the routine
sinking though my grave to the cavern below
I find a sense of comfort in my own abyss of black thoughts
have I wandered so far down that I am now lost
to what it means to be my scarecrow
my mind drifts once more to the trash bag bunny
I wish to die where the Autumn leaves place their crown atop my head
in the hidden wood, far below the cavern where all is enveloped
filled with trash bag bunnies and no more worries
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