May my lungs implode.
They gape with minute disasters.
Bound with pealing layers that each date to a time where I seek ill.
No one shall tease my mind with ecstasy,
As I’m am carved out by
Thick lead that gashes at natures whittling abundance.
I ask you, what are the politics of life?
What are the dangers of a nomadic lifestyle?
A dream for which we are closed off from…
Shuttered ants armed to the teeth with mishaps, morals, and misfortunes.
Comentarios