Soot upon my hands, by Loneliness is condescending
|
On and on we warp these words
Day in day out they spin a song
Nothing I would care to hear
I seek solace in your speaking silence
We misspeak the words of nothing
Saving our dying breaths
This is nothing I wish to write about
|
Posted: 2006-05-19 23:03:32 UTC |
This poem has no votes yet. | To vote, you must be logged in.
|
To leave comments, you must be logged in.
2006-05-22 17:25:46 | lost the lonely dead |
i love the title i dont know what to make of 'this is nothing i wish to write about'accept that you are hiding secrets about monkeys and dying breaths |