It comes like clockwork
Fixated rock body
Down face in
That empty warm
Cold ditch
Bottomless pit
Stitching quilt less
Flip the pillow
Cold side up
Empty spot
Usual thinking
Of massless
Mornings
No lumps left
In between
Bent hangers
Lemon peels
Quite the company
Chains rattling
The empty beckoning
Throbbing of
Rare skin
The place
Where your body
Should collect
My errors
In between
Twirling,
Trickling
Destroying every
Cloudy fist
Sweeping over
Nothing
But broken
Dreams
Of you.
Mar 18, 2013
Mar 18, 2013 at 3:12 AM UTC
It comes like clockwork
Fixated rock body
Down face in
That empty warm
Cold ditch
Bottomless pit
Stitching quilt less
Flip the pillow
Cold side up
Empty spot
Usual thinking
Of massless
Mornings
No lumps left
In between
Bent hangers
Lemon peels
Quite the company
Chains rattling
The empty beckoning
Throbbing of
Rare skin
The place
Where your body
Should collect
My errors
In between
Twirling,
Trickling
Destroying every
Cloudy fist
Sweeping over
Nothing
But broken
Dreams
Of you.
Had/have hopes that seem hopeless.
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