w in progress
littered finished binges,
a sence of ironic calm
-- like the silence after the snow falls and weighs down on the ground
the dirt and the mess and the unfinished ,
draws out the energy from effort into silence.
It's the low.
It always comes. You know it always comes. And you think it never will.
Doom.
Pop the pills perscribed. Pray for , I don't know , just in case ?
Words empy out into the wine glass.
You'd love some red. But it's summer, for Gods sake! , and all the happy people drink white or rosé. So that's what you have.
Red goes better with suicidal ideation.
There are no words where you are, because in limbo, every one is deaf and dumb.
Poetry by kristallkross
Read 673 times
Written on 2011-07-01 at 17:10
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Limbo
The room smells of cigarette smoke,littered finished binges,
a sence of ironic calm
-- like the silence after the snow falls and weighs down on the ground
the dirt and the mess and the unfinished ,
draws out the energy from effort into silence.
It's the low.
It always comes. You know it always comes. And you think it never will.
Doom.
Pop the pills perscribed. Pray for , I don't know , just in case ?
Words empy out into the wine glass.
You'd love some red. But it's summer, for Gods sake! , and all the happy people drink white or rosé. So that's what you have.
Red goes better with suicidal ideation.
There are no words where you are, because in limbo, every one is deaf and dumb.
Poetry by kristallkross
Read 673 times
Written on 2011-07-01 at 17:10
Save as a bookmark (requires login) Write a comment (requires login) Send as email (requires login) Print text
