"torniquet" poems
The bells of a million bicycles fill the air, townsfolk amble without even a care.
Atmosphere of dozy dreams.
Tulips on the bank side pout, kissing away at the pure ****** air.
No traffic, or trafficking.
They sit, enjoying their trip.
Toking on the hookah, or toking on a ****** that choice is yours.
They roll a spliff, oh sweet Mary Joanna.
A dingy back room in a dismal dark corner.
Don't ever say that nobody warned yer.
Oppressive atmosphere of sullen death.
Addiction takes control of the lonely soul, who needs to escape.
Who may never get old.
Found slumped, laid out ,cold.
Torniquet locked up tight.
The buzz of the day, that ended the life.
Of the poor soul.
Had nothing better to do.
Attached to the end of the body that's fixed, shot up, sky high.
The world ended, not in that passion filled cafe.
(c) Livvi
Apr 24, 2014
Apr 24, 2014 at 5:03 AM UTC