"sewer" poems
The sewer stink of street trash
marries the scent of desire
veiled in crimson shadows
reflected on the damp pavement
Thoughts silenced by the gasp
of nylons being shredded by possibility
Teeth grip then slip
on the sweat of a humid night
Fireball burns sweet
as night lands on the flesh in city soot
a grit that makes every movement
a sanguinary promise
forged on the edge of pain
Owned. Taken. Willed.
Filled with primal intoxication
that turns warm city nights
into shameless memories
wrapped in the stink of street trash
Feb 3, 2017
Feb 3, 2017 at 4:28 AM UTC
These streets
are home to countless
rodents
emerging for a moment
to feed
or breed
or just to breathe the sun
One by one line up
for the chance to
make something
out of nothing
Who are they and
where do they go
while the city refuses to
sleep
___
Doors to endless lands
line the avenue
each its own portal to the
unimagined
A family of four
with the yapping mutt
or a lonely cat lady
whose entryway wreaks of *****
a drug dealer
door slamming
every hour on the hour
or an empty snowbird's nest
On the surface
everyone pretends
they don't have a hole to
crawl back to
or walls that know
every night
But below the sewer grate
a world filled with
the stench
of what could have been a
good day
Many a barkeep can
shed some life
on these drunkards'
rat king
or at least a story of those who
made it out
Once or twice it'd be grand
to see the bottom of a martini glass
left with a sip or two
instead of the casually tipped
lipstick-clad cocktail,
drained of doubt and despair
until morning warms the
frozen dreams
of those retired to
a paradise unknown
Oct 25, 2015
Oct 25, 2015 at 1:45 PM UTC
It ain’t like ahm a teacher ner nuthin.
Ahm jess a regular person, nothin spayshul
Ah ain’t no docterr of rocket science
Ahm jess a working guy, and kinda playful.
Ah half tah admit, ah do get things wrong
And sometahms ah can make a big mess
But ah do have minny, minny good points
And ahm a rilly good person, irregardless.
But things like writin’ readin’ and
Readin’ writin’ and sech lack that stuff
Ah stopped carin’ ‘bout at twelve
‘Cause ah found it more than kinda tuff.
Ah mean, it ain’t lack ah ain’t never
Gunna need to know reedickaluss stuff lie cat.
Ahm jess gunna graduate and then
Ah’ll go to work with Dad and drahve a bobcat.
Ain’t nobuddy needs algebra for that
Er fer workin’ at the factory line ever day either.
And it sher ain’t like ahm a teacher ner nuthin.
Ahm jess a regular person, nothin spayshul
Ah ain’t no docterr of rocket science
Ahm jess a working guy, and kinda playful.
Ah half tah admit, ah do get things wrong
And sometahms ah can make a big mess
But ah do have minny, minny good points
And ahm a rilly good person, irregardless.
But things like writin’ readin’ and
Grammer and other sech borin’ stuff
Ah stopped carin’ ‘bout at twelve
‘Cause ah found it more than kinda tuff.
Ah mean, it ain’t lack ah ain’t never
Gunna need to know reedickaluss stuff lie cat.
Ahm jess gunna graduate and then
Ah’ll go to work with Dad and drahve a bobcat.
Ain’t nobuddy needs algebra for that
Er fer workin’ on a factory line ever day either.
Ah sherr don’t need it to work digging
Er runnin’ sewer lahns er plummin’ pipes neither.
So, folks can jess give up on tryin’
To turn me into some kinda egghead scholar.
After all, it was good enough for my dad
To go to work, and work hard to earn a dollar.
Jul 31, 2018
Jul 31, 2018 at 9:34 AM UTC
Bruised and battered a friendship
Sometimes hangs by a tiny thread
As we came to the edge
Urged on , by all , but our own souls
We stop for friendship sake
Staring at the rocks of death below
We walked the cliff edge black
Hearts pounding like stampeding rhino
Charging our very path
Dragons of fear circle over head
Breathing fire over all
Pride clamors for higher ground
Standing tall and righteous
We fly high in the sky
Preying like vultures
Search for every fault
Feeling lost and alone
We seek the lower land
With pastures lush and green
And soil deep and rich
Where horses softly munch
Teaching us their gentle ways
For the loss of a friend
Can be to much to bear
In this already harsh world
Weighing like lead on our back
Like the captain of our own ship
We cling to the end
As our world sinks from under us
Breaking boards and smashing masts
Many splinter blind our eyes
As we float together in darkness
Waiting , for the storm to pass
Then the great sewer grabs our very souls
And throws us to the earth
Braking our ego shells
With troubles of our time
And sew new friendship
To be born anew
As only the friendship
Which has great strength
The power to endure many deaths
That see through much lashing pain
Can ever earn its name
For friendship forged in great heat
Will find itself sealed to the eternal time
Mar 5, 2014
Mar 5, 2014 at 3:53 PM UTC
There's this little thing who was born in the sewer
Her name, they all say, is Society
Pretends she's all that, but she's really nothing newer
They say she never once spoke the truth.
Society likes to pick in the brains of young girls
Likes to meanly whisper in their ears,
"You're fat, you're worthless, you're the ugliest there is!"
What good does that do? It brings them to tears.
Society likes to mess with the minds of young boys
Likes to torment them by teasing,
"You're skinny, you cry, you aren't manly enough!"
Society makes sure it sure isn't pleasing.
Society likes to mess with the minds of in-betweens or not-at-alls
Likes to belittle, judge, and taunt
"Why can't you be normal? No one likes you!"
It goes on and on. Society likes to daunt.
Society herself doesn't have a care in the world
She never thought once about anyone's feelings
All day she picks at everyone she can find
All night she waits for them to wake, on their ceilings.
Sep 14, 2018
Sep 14, 2018 at 2:27 PM UTC
And looking back at it-
I swear you ****** the life out of me
Faster than you burn through your cigarettes
You left me there;
Charred and used
Just another decoration in the sewer drain
You stepped on me
To make sure that my light was completely gone
As you reached in your back pocket and pulled out another one
Jun 13, 2014
Jun 13, 2014 at 2:25 AM UTC
Teeth and tongue
Tongue and cheek
Wars start people died, and they talk,
Who’s cheating on whom within a myth of a happy ending
Cheek and cheek
Bombs, explosions and people talk,
About the weather and the puppy fluff struck in sewer drains
Our fantasies coming to a steal away the reality of misunderstood celebrities
We play life across a board game
Cross Go pick up Nothing, nothing fun things of un things
Against the knowing we celebrate everything
Jul 25, 2018
Jul 25, 2018 at 10:20 PM UTC
I feel as if my head is sliding off my neck like ice cream melting down the cone. I am a witch melting, shrinking smaller as my spine stacks horizontally like shiplap. My body has been refurbished into a pinball machine. Something so tiny as a silver ball destroys so much. It bullets through my body, shooting off like Cuban missiles. I feel the turmoil and chaos seeping through the gutters of this old home of bones. It's like spilled oil sludging through my blood vessels or rats scattering through a sewer, nibbling and feasting away on these muscles of mine until they are frayed like gnawed-on cable wires. At odd hours of the night when time is propelled by the safe travels of breath (that weave in and out like Victorians at a ball) from sleepy children who have yet been touched by monsters or nymphs, whereas each of my breaths steer Odysseus's weather-beaten boat through ten years of treachery. My heavy, melting head slowly sloping like clay off a bust makes its home on my dingy pillow as I lay on a prison bed with cold shackles around my ankles that make my bones shatter into a mosaic as if that could shrink my ankles so I can slip out. I feel like a chained hawk at these hours of the night when I just want to fly until I screech to a halt and flail over the cliff that waterfalls into the ends of the universe. I'd be reluctant at first, perhaps, but what other escape does one have other than to make an autopsist's Y-incision on one's body, then slip out like a hermit crab freeing himself from his heavy shell? Embarking onto a new dimension where there's hope for a radical swap of atoms that don't shape a crippled, deteriorating human is the only choice when you want to live a life other than what you were cursed with. May we then find peace and live as naked souls bearing no heavy shells.
Jul 7, 2017
Jul 7, 2017 at 4:53 AM UTC
It is
And it's changing
The wind into summer shower
Into mushrooms and birds mouth
From river to the sewer
It is and it's changing
From dark to light to dim with
Speckles of sun born by the
Mirror in you childlike hand
You are catching dust bunnies
Sneezing and laughing
And the dirt could be followed by magic
And the kiss isn't greased by the notion
Of sin and the sin is only a word from the book
Death and insanity
Are frightening and profound
Your world is built from
No buts but ands
And they flow into peace
Just as well as the film of oil
On the ***** puddle
Astonishes you with
An iridescent rainbow
Duality is born by fear
You split and separate so
Caught up in the survival game
To keep that face and partake
Of wealth and fame
Empty is locked in the dungeon
And the words interlock
In plain patterns
Yet alive as they produce sounds
And the smell of tangerines
On a tree by the coast of Sicily
Reminds you of the day
When you could still enjoy
The warmth of sun
It absorbed into its juicy flesh
And there's no need to run
No need to stay
No need to cut off the ties
When life offers you more
And the heat and cold are feelings
That gets names as they replace each other
As they flow unstoppable
Dripping reactions
Burning like acid and smooth like milk
All in one glass
And when you have no thoughts
Ask questions
And when you feel the pain
Stay present and consider humanity
May 28, 2017
May 28, 2017 at 9:43 AM UTC
I'm done trying to make myself beautiful
I'm bored with mascara, weighing down my eyelashes
gunking up my sight like a city sewer
I'm finished with lip gloss
a pop of shiny color on my wet mouth
pulling you in for a sticky kiss
I want to be ugly
to let my pores gape wide and let in the air
my skin breathing for the first time in years
I want to claw off my clothing
my fabric fittings sewn to slim me down
to tailor me into something worth loving
I want to be repulsively human
maybe all of this is because you said
how you always love the most disgusting things
Jan 22, 2015
Jan 22, 2015 at 9:30 PM UTC
I am utterly convinced
that my spirit is a ten-cent *****
letting any passing nemesis
**** it in the mind
with almost no tension.
It must enjoy the sensation
as its host clearly shows
in the streams of tears
that flow through the eyes,
the spirit's ***********
It must moisten its knickers
at the viewing of torture,
as its host sits in an icy stupor,
with the times of grotesque
spectacle-sobs on tile flooring,
nicks on the wrist, what have you-
the only times of breathing.
My spirit must have stolen all the
charm it takes to captivate
the enemy into arousal,
as the host stumbles awkwardly in
public, pushing all potentials away
with vehemence and convincing itself
of its inferior quality to
even the vermin of the sewer.
My spirit has made me the loathing host
to the parasite of my own being,
my mind the main casualty,
ridden with **** from villainy both
outer and inner, decay from traumas
more persuasive than the tongue
of Casanova.
I hope it's happy.
Apr 29, 2010
Apr 29, 2010 at 10:46 AM UTC
GOLDFISH
I had a pair of goldfish,
Neither had a soul, maybe they did,
Spiritual fish possibly?
Aimlessly swimming around thei goldfish bowl.
Every day, day in, day out,
Poor flipping creatures,
They never get out!
If they were fed up, never would they shout.
Last week it seems, the golden chap he became deceased!
A glorious funeral was had by he, he had a final journey, travelling out to sea,
Yesterday his cell mate, the black chap had his last day.
He travelled out to see.
Darling sweetest goldfishes, got funerals they both deserved.
Military honour for brave goldfish.
The black one and the gold one too,
A ceremonial flushing by way of household loo.
One hundred deceased goldfish all standing on parade.
Together flowing through the sewer,
Good night sweet fishes,
Enjoy your journeys to the sea,
Escaped eternal confinement, from depths of goldfish tank.
Enjoy the ever after, ride the tide the two of you,
The water in the solent, probably not too blue.
(C) LIVVI
Jul 12, 2017
Jul 12, 2017 at 5:38 PM UTC
building up
a big mountain
then tear it down
give it to the clowns
nosebleed
for a feast
endless bottom
as a treat
*it’ll likes get up
tear it down
it’ll likes get up
tear it down*
trail of tears
chopped off
nail of thoughts
stopped short
ego invoice
taking drugs
fat berg sewer
horrible vanity
*it’ll likes get up
tear it down
it’ll likes get up
tear it down*
Apr 22, 2015
Apr 22, 2015 at 5:07 PM UTC
"We´re all a little mad here" he says,
wide eyed, letting the words lip slither off his snippity snake tongue.
We smile and we laugh in unison.
In unison our heaves,
ins outs
match one another,
as belly moves,
up and down we synchronize,
ha-h-ha,
What does he mean?
how silly!
Then deep thought unlit
hide behind our bodies rocking chair movement
snip snapping hip
We´re all a little mad, are we not?
as ego wears a crimson feathered mask
and covers in gold to hide
the deep dark coal
secrets that slith and creep
like crocodiles,
sewer nights in paris,
smelly grotesque,
we hide.
"We´re all a little mad here" he says
as our bodies move in unison.
Our bodies move in unison.
In unison,
while echoes
tap my animal soul.
Mar 3, 2015
Mar 3, 2015 at 6:35 PM UTC
i saw the greater part of creation succumb to the piracy of numbness-
the nimbus rage of torpedo cigars blowing blue-grey smoke into the dark lashes of love-struck little *****
thirsty angels with tangled curls of hair bashing their heads against bathroom walls
screaming under their breath, not enough.
i saw the green plastic- and her orange eyes
and the soap-bubbles on the sidewalk
and the soap frothing all over the sidewalk
and the glass that took off like pristine bullets in every direction
and-
blood running over the cum-covered lip of the curb, flowing into the street-
down to the drain, dripping into the hungry orifices of the big metal grate
into sewer pipe salvation-
destination unhindered by your humanity.
god, this must be insanity
and not even the good kind.
but
let's go watch the fire-works up on the roof-
crawl out the attic window
i let you go first to watch the electric calico
trickle down your legs like a promise.
i like the birds that fly in and out of your hair-
the handkerchief at your hip,
i like the crazy and the cool-
the too cute for comfort
and the fake angsty danger of your darkside.
like morphine-
the band or the drug?
you're ironically detached
with your semi-satanic languidity-
and overdue serenity
[i got a few overdue books at the library.]
[they closed the library a long time ago.]
i like to play catch with your presence-
our eyes with the back-and-forth,
the half-sent glances when we think the other isn't looking.
but we were always looking-
or at least i was always looking at you.
i could see half inside of you.
you were always half-naked-
in the scanty rags of the latest fashion.
when you breathed it was like nectarine noises-
and muffled yelps of love.
i watched your shirt move up and down on your chest
and told you about "never knows best"
it seems
i've seen the greater part of creation succumb to the supreme softness
and the best laid plans of motorcycles and mini-vans fall to pieces in my palms.
and you were the greatest creation i saw on the roof that day.
don't bat another pretty little eyelash at those tiny flashing pieces that go past like ricochets
it's just one more night of strangeness
and then you can be free again.
Jul 11, 2012
Jul 11, 2012 at 1:34 AM UTC
I've seen cops
way too many times,
too many times
to go through my ****
ripping apart pillows
with switches
and against my better judgment
I did nothing
as I heard the glass of
my grandmother's picture
being tossed around
in the back.
Too many times
asking me questions
about this
and that?
Him or her?
If you help us out,
we'll help you out,
understand?
in their rooms
where no love is grown
and no help is on the way,
their eyes were filled with the fire,
they were finally
gonna get this ******
make him pay
for crimes he didn't commit.
Too many times
when i was asleep
in some old sewer,
and rolling up
asking me if i was on drugs
or drunk,
and if i didn't leave
they were gonna shove
a nightstick up my ***
get me used to it.
Too many times have they slowed down
at a light
and turned slowly,
keeping their eyes on me
like I was a wolf,
when they had blood in their eyes
and teeth
in their holsters.
"Where you going tonight?"
as they surrounded me,
another inmate
inside the bounded
bars of an external prison.
Cops never helped me,
never asked
how I was doing,
or why I was doing it,
or why I felt trapped
inside my own body;
all they saw
was another ******
making problems
for the civilized people.
God will remember them,
just as I can't forget.
And most of the time,
it was other black men,
some fruit bred strong in them,
to hate them bottom-rung *******
because they had escaped
and remade themselves,
apparently.
In truth,
I have killed many of them
in my sleep,
but when I step back,
I see that they are a product
of the same system
that says the guns, drugs, and violence
are part of the ****** condition,
that only shows a ****** on tv
when he's ***** or killed somebody,
another mugshot for you to put in your
scrapbook of fear.
So, no I don't hate them,
I hate seeing people that look like me
getting killed
before they come to fruition.
I hate that
:"black"
is used as a term
meant to engender
fear.
I hate that I walk down the street,
and a white girl
walks ahead
turning around
to
check for me.
I hate that when me
and some of the homies
walk down the street,
our hoodies pulled over our heads,
people look behind us
for the grim reaper.
There is hope,
but without
it being fostered,
The fruits
die on the vine,
noosed up
in a new way
as they drop.
Feb 11, 2012
Feb 11, 2012 at 6:36 PM UTC
perfunctory actions
zombie habits
sheep normalcy
blindly following the cud chewers
lemmings fall to their deaths
slowly
genetically engineered crops
dusted with pharmaceutical poison
laced with irradiated petroleum pesticides
fed to the babies of the poor –
wealthy voyeurs eagerly tune-in
as the impoverished masses rot
for viewing pleasure
leisurely strolling across manicured lawns
those in power scoff at the growing spectacle
unaware that the cake is stale
and the masses smell blood –
hurriedly, accountants shuffle tax rates
mix those with interest credit
season it with mortgage fees
and serve it on wall street
place mats
taking stock of stock market gains
gamblers do double gainers off high rises
adding to the flesh being consumed by the under class
under classed –
underclassmen, underpaid, stretch under ware elastic
as waistlines expand with the debt ceiling
both symbolizing the slow decline of
the American dream
screaming into the sewer
fewer eyes look back as disease dulls the iris
loss of the inner shine
glowing reflection of living organisms
fading as the day
slips into the blue-black –
night falls on a nation of imbeciles
brain dead patients
broken by depression and weight-loss scams
hearts crying out for care
personal and compassionate
instead are met with sterile robotics
and sanitary “C” students dressed in white
fearful of lawsuits
and spiders
they prescribe to symptoms
without knowing insurance number 87319A23-S1
is a human being, just like them
also living in fear
of the same establishment –
Jun 24, 2014
Jun 24, 2014 at 1:33 PM UTC
Every stranger on the street
has sunk deep into the night *at least once,
or twice*, and I'd wager
that at times their thoughts have unfurled
into black dishrags soaking up
the insignificant amounts
of vivacity-
pouring pride into the sewer,
praying desperately to recover.
Eventually, time pries a crack
into the soul, and peels back
the skin of morality until the lines
no longer meet and the mind
reels- searching for the baseline
of sanity- *save me, someone
save me*.
Oct 27, 2014
Oct 27, 2014 at 5:58 PM UTC
On the cobbled stone streets you lead me,
as I walked with disbelief.,
on how beautiful this world I am seeing
its your world, that's where I've been.
Raised our voices, made our point,
cursed in my sleep, I felt alone
you were suddenly someone I despise
until you changed your mood and made it right.
Time passed by, some would say too short
but I found out about all sorts
of your craziness, I argue with my mind,
I slept unhappy I even cried.
I already saw that something in your eyes,
Something's unstable but I said " well, I should try"
I saw how you don't let small things pass
sometimes you're happy sometimes you're mad.
then you stepped into my floody world,
***** streets with sewer openings uncovered.
Yes you did walked those streets with pure disgust,
so opposite of the world you have.
there were times when I felt we're far apart
when spending time together was a job.
your standards reaching past the treshold of all standards
I should try to understand that you're a prince in a pauper disguise.
Though hard I still wanted to see
if you'll stay or run away from me.
I know its hard for you but you tried
I am so happy that you tried.
your patience lost, my soul is hungry
was it supposed to be like this?
these little crumbles feeds my uncertainty,
I beg you please stay high with me.
Jul 30, 2014
Jul 30, 2014 at 11:47 AM UTC
Blankets, pillows, a black dog, and a cell phone.
Facebook, Twitter, Vine, Gmail, and Instagram.
Shampoo, soap bar, toothbrush,
toothpaste, temperature, and time.
Shaving cream, razor, running water,
advertisements, sensitivity, precision, and cuts.
Burned tongue, empty stomach, loose tie,
missing shirt buttons, beating the clock,
wallet, briefcase, and car keys.
Ballpoint pens, scented trees, fast food wrappers,
loose change, lighters, citations, ***** clothes,
CDs, and napkins.
Red lights, pedestrians, homeless people,
newspapers, billboards, pets on leashes, sewer
grates, crosswalks, skyscrapers, and garbage.
Faxes, printers, memorandums, break room,
prestige, cubicles, customer service, paperweights,
filing cabinets, stocks, and corporate.
Wipers, streetlights, rain coats, dive bars,
and home.
Blankets, pillows, a black dog, and a cell phone.
May 4, 2014
May 4, 2014 at 1:43 PM UTC
A leaf spirals downward,
Over covered heads and uncovered cars,
Children sleeping in grass
Drool dripping from their gums,
A football field seeing practice
Where someone's leg
Was recently snapped in half,
Overflowing sewer grates,
Dilapidated septic tanks,
Wastewater disposal facilities
With a runoff into
A river filled with needles and rocks
And bodies,
And it hits the ground with a silent explosion,
Until the wind sends it off and sets it somewhere out of sight.
Like when a glass bottle
Shatters on a bar top and
Sends shards soaring
Into the eyes
Of onlookers,
Everybody knows what's next.
Did you hear?
Fall is here.
The boy who starves so that he may be warm
And the girl who freezes so she may not starve
Have a chance encounter
And bask in mutual despondency.
They share their warmth,
And they share their food,
And neither has enough of either.
But even at their demise,
The sun still goes up and down
On the horizon,
Painting a scene of ignorance
Or apathy,
And lying.
The heat will dissipate soon,
What with Winter coming,
But it does not matter:
Everything is already frozen.
Dec 27, 2011
Dec 27, 2011 at 6:49 PM UTC
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
yesterday, i arrived on neptune
wearing big boots and dignity
the horizon was a nightmare of question marks
and gloomy witches;
i escaped from the religious enema and
pegged a choir boy on my way out.
i am no longer a pygmy goat on a foolish leash,
i take my paranoia seriously.
my journals guide me to a ruptured corpse,
never censored.
i have the ability to be given away on a whim,
but i am becoming a famous soldier, an intoxicating
ghost of dogma.
my dreams are beautiful, not realistic.
hallelujah, the hobos are wearing bathrobes,
the ****** pillheads are anointed with ****** and sewer cleaners.
i see a goblin grave advertised by
luscious lips and fishlike shoulders.
the texture of my dream is kaleidoscope and silver,
haunted by a fat sherriff who cuts the throat of the jukebox queen.
i have a personal god, and on her i bestow this passionate kiss,
i have a favorite enemy, with no goals and without ambition.
im sorry, i don't know any happy songs,
only the movement of her young sensitive thighs and
a nymph with an hourly rate.
i am a buffoon with a blugeoned harmonica and
weapons of sugar.
my life is beautiful, not realistic.
Jan 28, 2012
Jan 28, 2012 at 11:23 PM UTC
Stinky and Hinky
Both egregious pigs
Set out to **** us all;
They don't care a fig
If all of us starve to death
As long as they get rich.
Stinky and Hinky
Each a venal summabitch!
Stinky hired Hinky
Two minds, one sewer.
Stinky had no talent
But Hinky was newer.
Many people doubted
That either had a chance
But over half the voters
Chose to skip the dance.
So we got two reprobates
With no regard for us.
So, without much fanfare
And no legitimate fuss
The country got overrun
Crooks got left in office.
Now they all are setting out
To, once and for all, off us.
Stinky is a *****
And Hinky is a bigot.
They crap on the Constitution.
And expect us all to dig it.
Stinky uses the USA
As his personal ATM.
Hinky is just evil.
We’ve had enough of him.
Mar 22, 2017
Mar 22, 2017 at 5:22 PM UTC
Leaving Minnesota on train or buses,
crowded and alone, were you fearful
to sleep on couches and of the Village
people with a rhapsody of dreams
and cacophony of chords, under rain
and sewer stank was it hard,
to step inside and play
the first time for glistening eyes
and stage lights and to let melody
escape your belly-throat
for them, or did you know
more, that words can sculpt
delicacy as smooth
as Donatello and that life can be bought
without wrinkled greens and pressed
threads? Walking under a hard-rain
of assumption and change, did Greenwich
birth a demon-sadness, so you hid
your neck beneath collars and dark
glasses and smoky rhyme, when the ship
comes in will you be onboard or escape
to Louisiana, misunderstood, working
a river boat after you give Lennon
a puff and Warhol a tight-fist?
Did sad-eyed Sara send you back
leather spanish boots or forget,
and was Christ able to mend that
broken love, and did you later kick his idiot
wind away and in 2009 on stage when I could
see emptiness and heartbreak
hidden underneath your creased stetson,
were you still singing
it ain't me, babe?
Nov 21, 2014
Nov 21, 2014 at 8:26 PM UTC