Pages - Menu

Tuesday, June 21, 2011


Off the top of my head,

Head of a needle,

Wedged into our time,

Poisoned at the edge.

Knifes point in the acid,

The ground seeping illness,

Cracked earth aboding,

Lingering dirts of our waste.

Eating the fake belief,

Believing nothing for you,

Loud noise, white noise,

Creation ceasefire, to halt.

Waiting for you to stop,

Mature edged means the end,

Wasted space, exit complete,

Killed down, Shot Down...Dead.

I'm not getting better,

I'm not getting younger,

I'm not getting more ill,

I'm afraid of the brain.




Poetry? Barely...

Recently i've re-read The Catcher In The Rye by J.D. Salinger (published 1951 originally), so expect some sort of response to that in the upcoming days or so.

(c) Lerock0 2011

No comments:

Post a Comment