Still around somehow.

You're down when they walk by.
Skulking like crimson.
On your rug.
Treacherous.
So vulnerable.
What a position.
Crying for death.
Seeing what could be seen.
The scene so meloncholy.
But we laughed.
Spitting Pneumonia in noire.
Leaving all things heavy.
N blowin in the wind.


Garrett Johnson.

Drowning like Tuesday.

Stained cold.
Pained & blue.
& blew away in the morn.
The dawn striking Like I a seven day trip to the quiet mountains.
The quiet flowers.
The quiet fountain.
The silver trees.
& The shadow satins.
Melted in a field.
And still.
Kept silent.



Garrett Johnson.