Sunday, July 14, 2013

the white of the light

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

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