the sound of the clock tick tick ticking the taste of syrup stick stick sticking to my tongue the room has spun the couch is a twist n spin i twist the paper the paper spins i inhale the lighter i take it in it takes me in bittersweet release such a tease the room's at ease you call that a motif i call it self-righteousness i call you a thief stealing control dealing souls where will mine end up in whose hands if any maybe the bounty was plenty or distributed by twenty regardless i lost the process of thought or so i've been taught to abandon the search so here i perch atop the pedestal they gave me the road they paved me covered in thorns and the cuts were an entry an entry to a world of slavery was this not medicine you gave me or did the light not save me?
- afm
No comments:
Post a Comment