there is no one at fault
except for the plates trembling below
swiping our soul as one
to gobble it up
suffocate our pores
let the screams turn up
and taste-bud-dots peel
there is nothing left to sense
but the barren soil
while the last engine pops
and the final bell rings
the church has set free
all the old taken things
Mar 30, 2014
Mar 30, 2014 at 6:07 PM UTC
there is no one at fault
except for the plates trembling below
swiping our soul as one
to gobble it up
suffocate our pores
let the screams turn up
and taste-bud-dots peel
there is nothing left to sense
but the barren soil
while the last engine pops
and the final bell rings
the church has set free
all the old taken things
Request permission to use this poem