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It rains outside, I feel
Of all delicate cages,
Your one is the worst.
A wolfhound lives inside an
Insipid frontman
Driving cross-country to secure
A key. Life is a tight
Dress. Nudity is now a sin,
As is the scent
Of a cold shower
On a sweaty day. A storm bolts
After a wave of self
Worth and a jobless happiness sings
In symbiosis.
A parasite inches its way in.
The color red is evident but slips
To gray. Sincerity
Lacks a story, a birth and
A death. The circle does not
Close, but a straight line reigns.
--GO BACK--