[midday thought, bells toll over downtown]

In your perfect world of
perfect histories, bright futures,
your success seems mutable, shareable.
You've fought for little and
see no fight in me,
not the screaming rediculous
lusty will of venge seeking:
gently petting reason through repitition,
stroking idea,
laying some kind of self
serving foundation
broken I will be left with those I betrayed
you who I have so gallantly served,
will likely be
so gleefully absent.

1 comment:

~PhoenixRising said...

Pimped out, yo. Like rims still spinning and shit.
Which isn't exactly a comment, mainly because I can't really talk well about writing, other than "i like it" or "i don't", in this instance "i like it".