sore knees
I cannot push my will 1 step further
the lump inside has become bigger
thanks
you’ve been a great coach to my further discouragement
with my head pounding through the street
and no consolation of hope
sore wings
they have each flown
but left me grounded
sparse buds are left without green to go on
air hurts my tongue that tastes it
more than word spoken against you
every chirping lark is dawning a façade
in order to keep the dank bloodspots
and laughing gunshots from your soul
sane much?
not I
fry it all away, the box too
I need my inconstant so I might walk
not live, for what state is this?
life seems wrong
feeling so much makes me numb
still can’t strike the concrete
with the fangs of silver death
what I desire has no place
here
I’m 3 minutes ahead of my time
sore heart
cross this line