Integer Collection

Perfect defects going against my will
How long till the mtn. range of my mind
disintegrates? Casts my soul into shrouds
of dust? When knocking on doors is futile
shall we stand outside and wait in
the freezing, cold abyss of our hearts
waking up to the sounds of thudding,
thudding? We're left wondering...

Wondering how many pointless friends
will help us toward our own self-
realization of the bittersweet
qualities inside us, infecting our
innermost sand and sweat, while
we still seduce our sad selves
into waiting, waiting, waiting
for answers in the proud, summerless night.

No comments:

Post a Comment