silly to think
this was all in the past
sick to my stomach
every time I laugh.
there's too much ozone
in my head / heart/ and brain
it's filling my lungs,
scalding like acid rain.
on hot days I find out
what you really feel,
the way you pick at me;
A scab that won't heal.
I sit in the heat
trying to visualize--
an alternate end,
where nobody dies.
maybe I'm just sick
like sweat on my face, as
my insipid rhymes
puke all over the place.
No comments:
Post a Comment