tonight we bank in our fitzpleasure
hope is something, a most never
like a sleeping mind in the weather
rain like a weight, like a feather
so it seemed we had right to believe
strumming along our minds in the sea
till the dogs come home at the beach
where everything is nothing to me
a drop of love in a cup of scotch
tearing it's seething in a knot
like a slow dive to the cot
where i sing songs left to rot
today we'll talk about ourselves
the pleasure of nothing like help
i seek something like that to tell
to a french exit left to spell
and so i hope you break the doorhinge
as my mind seeks a sweet fortune
searching the wallow of mornin
oh babe you taste sweet of orange
so will it bleed right back again
or will you find a way to spin
the whips and chains of a whim
nothing hurts you in the end
YOU ARE READING
if not human
Poetrythe anthology of emotion, the passing of life, the epilogue of pure, unfiltered regret this is "if not human" poems, prose and stories from the dark
